The Hand of Destiny
by Mystic Lady Fae
Summary: Lissie and Erik are off to Venice to begin their new lives together. However, there are going to be a few bumps along the way that not even Destiny had counted on.
1. Explanations

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Here is the first chapter of my sequel to '_A Twist of Destiny_.' I hope that everyone enjoys themselves, and that it meets everyone's expectations. Thanks so much for reading, and please review.

**Chapter 1: Explanations:**

Where I was, the world was perfect. In a dark, gently swaying railcar, I lay in a soft bed wrapped in the arms of the man who had asked me to marry him. I savored the sound of his breathing, his chest rising and falling beneath my head as I listened to the sound of his heartbeat. He wasn't sleeping, I knew; his fingers were even now combing through my hair, lulling me into a state of bliss.

"Are you happy, my angel?" he whispered into the darkness of the room.

I sighed and snuggled closer. Erik chuckled and hugged me tighter. For a while, there was only the sound of the wheels on tracks, and rarely, a horn sounding from the engine at the front. Luckily, it was a fair distance away from us, and the sound didn't bother me…much.

"Lissie?" Erik softly muttered to me. "Can you tell me if you are truly happy with me?"

He sounded so worried that I had to look up at him and smile. "Yes, Erik, I am happy," I replied, giving him a soft kiss on his nose.

Erik winced, but didn't move away. This was not the first time I had seen his face, but then, he did not know that; after all, it had been years ago and he had been sick with fever, so of course he did not remember. On that day, when his fever had broken, I had put the mask on his face and he'd never removed it in my presence since.

But tonight, after our first time joining together, he had removed his mask in my presence. I'd had to beg him to do it, but he'd given in, knowing it was inevitable.

I had expected that moment to be as dramatic as it was in the film, with exciting music sounding as he pulled his mask off, allowing me to see him for what he believed to be the first time. He had looked so sad, but also hopeful, as though praying that our many years of friendship would prevail over any disgust I felt for his true form.

There was no music, but there was relief in Erik's eyes as I pressed a kiss to the imperfect side of his face. His disfigurement measured about the size of my hand, fingertip to wrist, on the right side of his face, stretching from his hairline to just above his lip, and from his perfect ear to where his nose became part of his cheek. There, the flesh was red and bumpy, looking as though he'd been beaten and the bruises hadn't formed yet.

To me, it wasn't that bad, but to Erik, it was a mark that was both a nightmare and a curse. I considered myself honored to see him bear his face, and I was touched by how his fear of rejection was slowly melting away to ease and happiness.

"I cannot believe you accept me as I am," he whispered, still combing my hair with his fingers.

"Ah, but I have seen your face before, and it did not trouble me," I said, looking up at him. "Remember when you were sick with fever, that day I first came to your home? I saw you then, and you didn't frighten me, nor disgust me."

He gave me a surprised look that quickly softened to affection. "You are a marvelous woman, my love," he said, smiling.

"Hmm, I know," I said, laying my head down and closing my eyes. "And you'd better not forget it."

I fell asleep to the sound of my fiancé chuckling in my ears.

* * *

Our first breakfast together was spent in the little dining area of the railcar. After he'd magically produced a dress for me to wear, Erik prepared a meal in front of my eyes, a skill he admitted to have learned by covertly watching me for years. On the days when I hadn't visited his house, he'd taken to preparing his own food, using trial-and-error to recreate the foods I'd made, or to try and make them better. I had to admit, the herbed butter sauce he put over my eggs was exquisite.

"You could easily become a great chef if you choose, Erik," I said, sipping the hot chocolate he'd made (minus the drugs, thank you very much).

He waved aside my praise and sat back in his seat, smiling as he looked at me. "That is kind of you to say, but I will always prefer your cooking to mine."

Shaking my head in amusement, I set my empty cup aside and looked at him, really looked at him. Many questions were burning in my mind, and though our night together had been heavenly, it could only distract my attention for so long.

"Ah, I can see your mind working, my love," Erik said, grinning. "You want answers, but are thinking of the polite way to ask, of that I have no doubt. So, ask."

Well, I wanted an open door, and here it was, so why shouldn't I take it? Okay, first things first. I looked him in the eye and asked, "How on _earth_ did you manage to organize this whole thing with the train?"

Erik claimed it had been rather simple, but as he spoke, I knew it was anything but. He, the man who had hidden away from the world, had actually done what he'd feared to do his entire life: he had gone out into the streets of Paris.

* * *

After spending two weeks brewing in anger over her praise of Antoinette's cousin, Erik had decided to take a more direct and drastic route to get what he wanted; and what he wanted was Lissie. Once he'd settled down and cleared his mind of his emotions, he tried to think clearly on how this might be done.

It had not been easy, but a long night of coming up with a plan, Erik set to rummaging through Monsieur Lefevre's desk to get exactly what he needed. Since Monsieur Lefevre was rich and well-connected, Erik had (correctly) guessed that the information he desired would be there. He found what he was looking for in the small box on top of the desk, where Monsieur Lefevre kept the business cards he acquired at parties he attended with his wife.

The next evening, Erik armed himself with a great deal of money in his pockets, as well as a business proposal. Hooded and cloaked, he traveled to the office of a Frenchman who was renowned for getting rich men anything they wanted –for a price, of course.

Naturally, the man, a Monsieur Laurent Buchard, did not flinch at the sight of a hooded, cloaked, mysterious stranger in his office –no doubt many of his 'clients' didn't want him to know who they were, or ask questions about their unusual requests, and wished to remain anonymous. Thus, when Monsieur Buchard heard Erik's venture and the amount of money that would be paid, he didn't even think about refusing.

Erik's demands were relatively simple: he wanted to rent a railcar, and attach it to a late-night train heading for Venice (or any city close to it). The railcar was to be fully stocked with food and drink, as well as clothing for us to wear. Also, the train was _not_ to leave the station without Erik safely aboard.

Monsieur Buchard understood this perfectly, and agreed to make the arrangements for the date Erik provided him, no questions asked.

* * *

"But that is not all Monsieur Buchard has done for me," Erik smirked. "I also asked him to rent a house for us in Venice. Actually, it will most likely be a palace that once belonged to the Italian elite, as I only want the best for you."

I could not help but be impressed and flattered. "I cannot believe you would do all of that for me," I said, sitting back in my seat. "But why kidnap me? I would have come with you if you'd asked me to. And how on earth did you get me _on_ the train?"

To my surprise, he blushed and looked properly ashamed. "Because I had no idea if you would accept my proposal," he admitted, looking away. "I did not know if you would allow me to woo you as any other man would, because I did not even know if you cared for me in that way. I had sincerely hoped that we would marry first, and you would grow to love me later."

Well, that made sense…sort of. Since neither Erik nor I were psychic, we couldn't know what the other would have done if he'd tried to ask me to dinner or anything romantic. In his world, kidnapping me probably seemed like the only solution to his problem, and he'd acted accordingly.

As for how he got me to the railcar, he explained, it was simple: he had rolled me up inside of a rug, stolen from one of the Populaire's store rooms, and hauled me there in the back of a cart (another courtesy of Monsieur Buchard). With me safely hidden from sight, and on the train without suspicion, Erik's plan was complete.

"I also took you because I did not like hearing your praise of Antoinette's cousin," Erik added, his voice tinged with jealousy.

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "You thought that I cared for Philippe that way?" I said, giggling. "Oh, Erik, you're so funny! Philippe is a nice man, to be sure, but it's not him that I love."

He moved to take a chair beside me, pulling me into a kiss that was full of love and need. We sat that way until we ran out of breath. Erik pulled away first, a satisfied, peaceful look on his face as he looked down at me.

"You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say you love me," he whispered.

I smiled and kissed him on the tip of his nose. "I have an idea. But what happens now? You said you wanted to marry as soon as we could in Italy, but afterwards…"

"We will wed when the train stops for a few hours in Italy. I am assured that there will be at least one such stop, and made the arrangements accordingly. After we're married, we will go to Venice and take a gondola to our rented villa, where we will stay until I can purchase one of our very own."

I stared at him. "You're going to _buy_ an Italian villa?" I asked, amazed. "Do we really need a place that grand?"

Erik looked at me in disbelief. "Of course we do," he said, as though it were obvious. "I want us settled in a home of our own, and I do not intend to live in a tiny house with barely enough room to breathe."

He reached out and took my hands. "I also wish for you to have a life of leisure. Between training the ballerinas and taking care of your family and myself, you have spent too long working your hands and patience. I intend to make you the image of the pampered wife and give you everything you could want…and all that you deserve."

I blushed, embarrassed and flattered at the determination in Erik's voice. True, I had been working very hard for over twenty years, taxing my mind and body to take care of my family, of Erik, and to carry out Destiny's will, but I didn't mind the work.

'_But maybe it won't be so bad being spoiled_,' I thought as Erik pressed a kiss on top of my engagement ring.

Not that I'd let it change me. After all the years I'd spent watching the divas in the Populaire act like spoiled brats (or overly pampered cats), I definitely didn't want to turn out like them! Hopefully, Erik would be able to keep me from turning out badly.

"I have a gift for you," he suddenly declared, rising up to retrieve a box from the desk in the sitting room of the railcar.

I hadn't been expecting any gifts, but the content of the box was, to me, quite priceless. Inside was as small stack of books, clearly meant for me to read and pass the time. Obviously, Erik had no intention of us leaving the railcar until we arrived in Italy.

"Do you like them?" he asked, looking slightly anxious as he knelt beside me. "They are the latest novels from England, and I thought-"

I shushed him with a kiss. "Thank you," I said, caressing his cheek. "Now, would you like me to read to you, or have you some art to work on?"

Grinning, he kissed me quickly and stood up. "I suggest that you take care of a few important things before you are lost in those books, dearest Lissie –namely that you compose a letter to your mother, explaining things before she brings Paris to its knees looking for you. I left a message of my own for her, but I doubt she will be very understanding of our situation. It might be best for you to write her and explain."

That made me wince. "A valid point," I sighed, looking at my books. "Very well. Is there a pen and paper?"

* * *

Hours later, I hadn't gotten further than the date, and _Dearest Mama _scribbled onto the pristine white sheet. Erik sat at the large desk, which better suited his tall form, and I was situated at a smaller table in the corner, with nothing to show for the large passage of time. I had eaten lunch and an afternoon tea over the blank piece of paper, but as the daylight began to fade, I still had nothing. Meanwhile, I had heard scribbling coming from Erik's desk all day, which was frustrating.

Finally, I set down my pen and closed my eyes, attempting to clear my head so that I could get my act together. Breathing deep, I sat back in my chair and let myself fall into a slight doze, the rhythm of the train swaying me like a baby in a cradle. It was rather relaxing, so I didn't notice that Erik had stopped working and approached me until I felt his fingers on my shoulders.

"You have written nothing down, my love," he whispered, moving his fingers to massage my neck.

I sighed. "Well, no one said it would be easy. What am I supposed to tell her? Not to mention _how_ do I tell her all this in a _note_?"

Erik pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Write as I did to the managers of the Opera House," he suggested. "Be straightforward."

As he left me, my eyes flew open. Erik was right; I should just tell what happened, how Erik and I felt about one another, and that we were getting married. And since photos could now be taken, I might send Mama a picture of Erik and me together in Italy, and that should be enough evidence that we were happy.

As Erik went to prepare dinner (something I still can't believe he can do), I sat and scribbled down a rough draft of what I wanted to say. I finished just as the plates were being set on the table, and after we'd eaten our way through sliced beef and garlic potatoes, I went to refine my letter. Erik helped by reading through my final draft and providing corrections.

"What shall we do with this now?" he asked as I signed and sealed it. "Shall you send it at the next stop, or wait until we are wed?"

"I was hoping to wait and send a portrait of us," I admitted. "Can we do that in Venice, once we settle into the villa you've rented?"

He thought about it a moment. "We may wait and send a photograph from Venice. There will be someone waiting for us at the station, and they will take us to the villa." He smiled at my skeptical look. "Since we are the only ones in a rented rail car, I think he will know us when we step onto the platform."

I shook my head. "You really have thought of everything for this venture, haven't you?"

Erik reached out and pulled me close. "Almost. We still have to find a priest who will marry us, and I fear you will lack a wedding gown, though there are several dresses in the wardrobe that should suit the occasion."

"I'm sure there are," I said, standing on tip-toe to kiss the adorable clef in his chin. "But in the meantime, will you read to me? I like hearing the sound of your voice."

"I live to please," he replied, sitting me down in a chair. "What would you like me to entertain you with this evening?"

* * *

As we lay in bed, I stared up at the ceiling and nibbled my bottom lip, losing myself deep in thought as my husband-to-be slept beside me.

Actually, that was the problem: my fiancé.

It wasn't that I regretted accepting Erik's proposal; I was beyond happy that he loved me as I loved him. However, that didn't stop the blossoming feeling of guilt I now had growing inside, as well as a dozen questions I didn't know if I could (or wanted) to answer.

Should I tell Erik everything about myself, starting with the fact that I was from the future? Do I tell him about my being sent here into the past, and into another body, all in order to carry out the work of the great-and-powerful Destiny? How do I tell him that the only reason I was here was to make sure he turned out a better man and help him find love –which, in the end, turned out to be me?

Closing my eyes, I tried to fight back tears. I loved Erik like I'd never loved anyone else. How could I keep such a huge secret like this from him? Didn't he have a right to know? Shouldn't our marriage be built on truth? How could I live with myself, knowing that I had kept such information from my husband?

Then there was Erik's reaction when he found out. He might be flattered that Destiny had taken an interest in him, if only for the sake of his happiness. For such a powerful being to take interest in him might make Erik feel a bit more confident in himself, which was something he needed.

On the other hand, he might be furious that I'd befriended him simply because I'd been ordered to do so. He might think that I was marrying him out of duty to Destiny, not because I actually loved him, and that, I knew, would break his heart.

'_No, it's best if I keep quiet_,' I decided.

If Destiny wanted it otherwise, she'd tell me. Right now, I would do what I wanted: become Erik's wife, and settle into a new life in Venice.

Closing my eyes, I snuggled down under the sheets to fall fast asleep.

* * *

AN: There is chapter one! I hope that it met everyone expectations, but I promise more fun in the future, so don't worry. Please be kind and review. Thanks!


	2. The Wedding Day

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: At last, the wedding of Erik and Lissie! Sorry it's not a grand affair, but I think this will suit them better. Let me know what you think in a review! Thanks!

**Chapter 2: The Wedding Day:**

There were several stops as we traveled through France, but all of them were barely long enough for even a bathroom break. This left no time for me to go to a post office and send my letter to Mama, and it was frustrating. Apparently, Erik had chosen the most direct route to Italy, which was why, after several days of being cooped up in the railcar, I was beginning to get cabin fever.

"I'm sorry, my dearest," Erik apologized, "I'm afraid I didn't think you would become so anxious after a few days. We will be in Italy soon, and then the train will stop for a few hours, just long enough for a quick lunch and for us to wed."

I managed to content myself with that knowledge, but it was still frustrating. I tore my way through the books he had brought me, and even managed to write a few letters to Meg and Christine, assuring them of my safety and happiness. Finally, just when I thought I'd loose my mind, I decided to take a nap, hoping that we'd get a long layover train stop soon.

When I woke a few hours later, the train had pulled to a stop. Blinking, I heard a mixture of French and Italian floating in through the open window of the bedroom. I could also hear Erik chatting with someone out in the railcar's main rooms, and the shuffle of footsteps as the stranger left. A moment later, Erik poked his head into the bedroom. I looked at him in anticipation, and he grinned.

"The train will be stopping here for at least four hours to change engines and passenger cars," he said. "Ours will be attached to the train when the reshuffling is finished. Did you pick a gown for the ceremony?"

Since I'd had days to do so, I admitted that I had.

"Good," he said. "You and I must dress quickly, and then we will leave. I have spoken to the necessary people, and it is all being put in motion. Be sure to bring your letter to your mother, as well. We can post it from here." Then he vanished, shutting the door so that I could get ready.

Going to the wardrobe, I shifted through the dresses hanging there and shook my head. Erik had ordered Monsieur Buchard to purchase a dozen gowns in the latest fashions, all in my size, and they'd been packed into the wardrobe in the main bedroom. The dresses were in a variety of colors, made (and trimmed) with lace, silk, satin, and velvet, so the choice for the right dress had been difficult.

After sorting through the entire stack of clothes, I found the one I had chosen: a walking outfit in a dark blue floral print, trimmed with white lace, and with an underskirt of white cotton. It was charming and casual so Erik and I would not attract attention, but dressy enough to be married in. Plus, there was a cute, wide-brimmed matching hat to keep the sun off.

Once I'd changed into my hat and dress, armed with the letter for my mother clutched in my hand, I went into the sitting area. Erik emerged from the other bedroom a few moments later, dressed just as casually, but still elegant. His choice of a brown coat, dusty gold vest, and ivory cravat enhanced his dark looks, and his white half-mask matched it perfectly. He looked rather nervous, probably because we were going out in public, but hopefully with me by his side, we would not attract too much attention.

"I have already made inquiries as to where the church and courthouse are," he said, carefully checking that his mask was in place. "The town is small, and both the church and courthouse are down the road, beside one another. We shall be married quickly, then on our way to luncheon. I hope we will find Italian food adequate."

I'd loved Italian food back in my old life; one of my college friends had been half-Italian, and had given me a crash course in everything from seafood to pasta. As I assured Erik that Italian food would be fine, I silently prayed that Italian food in the 21st century hadn't changed too much from Italian food in the 19th century.

By the time Erik handed me onto the station platform, it was empty. The engine had already been taken away, as had a few of the passenger cars. Smiling, he tucked my hand into his elbow and began to lead me away towards the bustling street. We hadn't gone ten steps before we were greeted by a somewhat elderly man, possibly the stationmaster, who smiled and gave us a polite nod.

"It'll be at least five hours before your train heads off, Monsieur Garnier," the man said. "You'll have time to take care of your business and have a bite to eat. A carriage has been called to take you wherever you wish to go."

Erik nodded, his hand reaching up to clutch mine, which still rested in his elbow. Clearly, he was nervous, but was doing his best to look stern and composed. "Thank you. We should be back well beforehand. Is there someone who can provision our kitchen? Our stocks are rather low."

The stationmaster nodded. "It's already arranged. Once it's off the main tracks, a few of our boys will resupply the car. It'll be done long before your return."

"Excellent," Erik said, reaching to gently take the letter from me. "And please post this for us. It is to go to Paris as soon as possible." He handed over a coin for postage.

Again, the stationmaster nodded. "Yes, sir, right away." He tipped his hat at me. "Have a good day." With that, he turned and left us.

Erik let a small sigh escape his lips as I gave him a smile. "Nervous, much?" I asked, smiling. "Don't worry; just act confident and as though you are used to getting your way. If you do, people shouldn't bother you much."

He snorted and headed for the carriage waiting for us. "I am only confident because I have you with me. And I _am_ used to getting my way, as you well know."

I chuckled and let him hand me into the carriage. When my fiancé was settled beside me, the driver immediately headed for the courthouse. It was a short distance, but I let my senses roam, taking in the cafés and eateries that were scattered about. I could smell melted butter, bread, pasta, and a dozen other things I couldn't name, for they passed so quickly on the wind.

It wasn't long before the carriage pulled to a stop before an official-looking building, and a very plump fellow (who could have easily been Santa Claus's double) stepped out. He looked rather happy to see us, and as soon as he got Erik's hand, he wouldn't stop shaking it. My husband-to-be looked rather shocked at the warm welcome, and I had to keep myself from laughing as I helped myself down from the carriage.

"And here is the lovely bride!" the man exclaimed in perfect, Italian-accented French as he finally released Erik's hand in exchange for mine. "Aren't you the picture of happiness? And so pretty in that charming dress of yours! Come, come inside and we can get you married as soon as possible."

This Santa lookalike was called Signor Mancini, and he was the Chief Justice of the Peace in town. He was used to couples wanting to wed quickly and quietly, and therefore kept a stack of marriage licenses ready in his desk. Erik and I were ushered into his office and asked to fill out the necessary documents while Signor Mancini fetched the priest, a nun or two, and his secretary to be witnesses.

It was a basic ceremony, with Erik and I holding hands as both the priest and the chief justice married us, to make sure it was doubly official. It felt sort of anticlimactic as Erik and I said "I do," but when I felt my wedding ring slide on beside my engagement ring, I felt a sudden rush of warmth inside me. When I put the ring on his finger, I looked up and knew that Erik felt the same way. The smile on his face spoke volumes, and as we shared our first kiss as man and wife, he proceeded to show it in the heated press of his lips.

My husband – husband! – waited impatiently as the secretary and nuns signed the documents as witnesses. Meanwhile, I politely thanked the priest and Signore Mancini for their kindness. Both men waved my thanks aside, proceeded to wish me well in life, and give me directions to an eatery that would serve us a marvelous meal.

"For your first meal as Signora Garnier must be a good one," they said. "It is a good omen, and something you should enjoy."

I couldn't tell if they were joking with me or not, but I didn't get a chance to ask them. This was because, at that point, Erik came up and grabbed my hand, his other grasping the marriage license as though it would grow legs and run off.

"My thanks, sirs," Erik said, bowing his head. "But I'm afraid my wife and I are short on time. We've need to eat and walk through the town before our train leaves. If you'll excuse us?"

The two older men exchanged grins as my husband dragged me out of the courthouse and to the carriage, where I gave the driver the name of the restaurant I'd been told of. Much to my embarrassment, the driver smiled and merely pointed across the street.

Nodding, Erik folded our marriage certificate and tucked it into his coat. "Very well, then. We will eat and then see what this little village has in store for us."

Taking my hand, he led me to the restaurant, where we were promptly seated and given menus. I scowled when I saw that it was mostly in Italian, but Erik seemed to be breezing through it with no trouble. Should I have been surprised that the Phantom of the Opera knew Italian? Not really, since most operas he loved were Italian in origin. Sadly, that didn't help _me_ very much.

My frustration must have showed, because Erik was quick to ask, "Shall I translate for you?"

Lunch in Italy was not what I remembered back in the 21st century. Instead of the piles of pasta with sauce on it, I received several courses, staring with cold cuts and ending with dessert. In between we were served a small bowl of pasta with a light tomato sauce, a marvelous dish of roasted chicken, and a side dish of roasted potatoes that were absolutely delicious. In accompaniment with the food, there was sparkling Italian champagne to drink. We toasted our marriage, and when we finished our meal, Erik ordered gelato for us to share.

Stuffed to bursting, we managed to make our way onto the street and to our carriage. As we approached, the driver asked if we'd like to see the small marketplace, which was popular with tourists, and Erik looked to me.

"Would you care to do some shopping, Madame?" he asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

I blushed. "Yes, very much. I'd like to see what they have to offer, at least."

The driver was quick to get us there, rolling past tourists and the attractions the town had to keep a person occupied between one train ride and the next. I heard Italian, French, Spanish, English, and German, all mingling together as we rode down the street.

The marketplace was remarkably busy and full. People bustled back and forth as merchants shouted and showed their wares to anyone who stopped to look. Much to Erik's surprise, no one paid him much attention, as they were all too busy shopping -the locals looking for produce for the evening's meal, and the tourists searching for the perfect little souvenir to take home with them.

I, of course, didn't have any money on me, but Erik surprised me by pressing several Italian bills into my palm and winked when I stared at him.

"I came prepared," he explained. "How else could I pay for our marriage certificate and ceremony?"

Talk about a 'duh' moment. Of course Erik would have money on him; how else could he have paid for lunch and everything else?

"But where's the rest of it?" I softly whispered to him. "Not in the train, I hope!"

He chuckled. "No, it is in the bank. I gave my fortune to Monsieur Buchard to put in the bank in Paris, and have most of it transferred to the Italian bank in Venice. Some will remain in Paris, in case we return there in the future. If we don't, it will simply wait to be claimed by one of our children."

I blushed at the thought of children. It wasn't that I was afraid of raising babies; I had experience, after all, with raising Meg and Christine. But children with Erik!

Erik laughed and pulled me towards the market stalls, where I was easily distracted from my thoughts. In minutes, my head was spinning from all of the sights, smells, and sounds of the market, which was why it was so hard for me not to spend a fortune there. I particularly wanted to buy a few fruits and vegetables that looked interesting, but didn't know if they'd be good or not, so I chose to pass them by.

With Erik hovering over me, I was able to keep my head on straight and buy a few quaint glass figurines that would look lovely sitting in a window. Each figure was a unicorn of pulled glass, the ends of its horn, feet, and tail tinted in a different color: blue, red, green, and yellow. Erik liked them, too, and I secretly bought one made of a rainbow of colors, knowing that he had no favorite color.

By the time I was finished, it was time to head back to the train station. The carriage got us there just in time, and we'd barely settled down in the railcar when the train began to pull out. While Erik took my purchases to the bedroom, I went to fix us some tea, thankful that someone had thought to light the stove. The sight of a full pantry made me smile, and I noted that there was an abundance of mint tea, my favorite.

I had just put the water on when Erik came back. Clad in just a white dress shirt, black slacks, and his favorite pair of black boots, he was a marvelous sight. He'd even removed his mask, revealing that his abnormality was an unusual shade of red.

Dropping what I was doing, I went up to him and touched the right side of his face. "Erik, are you alright?" I asked. "Your skin is all red here, like it's been rubbed raw."

He ran fingers over it and winced. "It often does that, usually if it is too warm or if I've worn the mask for too long."

I '_tsked_' over it. "Do you have any aloe, or a rubbing alcohol to cool it? It won't do for you to get blisters or chaffed skin."

My husband stared at me for a moment before getting up and going to the bathroom, returning a moment later with a small green glass jar. "Will this do?"

Twisting the lid off, I caught the scent of aloe and mint, and smiled. "Perfect. But where did you get it?"

"I purchased it at the marketplace, when you weren't looking. It's a crème for your hands."

"Thank you, but I think it would do more good for you than me," I said, smiling as I pressed a kiss to his lips. "Now, sit down so I can see to that redness you've got blooming on your cheek."

For a moment, I thought he'd object, or, at worse, throw a fit. Just when I thought I'd get the angry side of him, Erik surprised me by sitting down and tilting his head to the left, giving me better access to his right side.

He smiled as I gave him a skeptical look. "I thought it better not to quarrel with you, especially not on our wedding day," he said. "Besides, your temper rivals mine, and if we begin fighting, who knows what will happen?"

I had to laugh. "You learn very quickly how to appease your wife, Monsieur Garnier," I retorted playfully, fingers scooping out a large dollop of . "And speaking of which, how did you come up with the surname of Garnier?"

He shrugged. "I read it in the paper while I was making my plans. I believe it belongs to an architect in Paris, and since he and I share the same love of buildings, I decided to take my name from him. What do you think?"

Dabbing the crème onto his face, I replied, "I rather like it. But what will we do in Italy? Will we be idle rich folk?"

Again, Erik shrugged. "I was hoping to pass myself off as a wealthy man, with a hobby of being an architect and an artist. You will be my beloved new wife, whom I intend to spoil with trunks full of dresses and boxes of jewelry."

Snorting softly, I shook my head. "And what would I do with drawers full of gems? No, I'll forgo that, thank you. A lovely trinket crafted with your hands I would happily accept, but nothing overly grand."

I smeared the last bit of lotion on his cheek and stepped back. "There, all finished. Now, the kettle is whistling. Why don't you see to the tea while I put this jar away?"

In minutes, we were settled into a pair of chairs before the stove, the image of domestic bliss. As the sun began to set, I smiled, knowing that there would be many more evenings like this one in the future.

* * *

AN: A shorter chapter than usual, but more will happen in the next one, I promise. Meanwhile, please be kind and review. Thanks!


	3. A New Home

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: I'm going to "bend" history a bit, and give Lissie the miracle of indoor plumbing, because she deserves it. In actuality, indoor plumbing was still being perfected, but since this is fiction, I'm going to go off of history a bit. I hope you'll forgive me. (bows) In the meantime, enjoy, and please review!

**Chapter 3: A New Home****:**

In the late afternoon, after what seemed weeks being on the train, Erik and I arrived in Venice. The train station was bustling full of people, and I was so excited that I couldn't keep still. Erik found my excitement amusing, and had to chide me to keep still, at least until the stationmaster came to speak to us.

"This car does not exclusively belong to me," Erik admitted. "There is an Italian gentleman who wishes the use of it, and so you and I must vacate as soon as possible. No doubt there will be someone waiting to escort us to our villa, but only the stationmaster would know, as I'm sure Monsieur Buchard will have arranged it."

"Will the villa be furnished?" I asked, suddenly worried. Other than the clothes Erik had asked Monsieur Buchard to provide on the train, we had no possessions with us.

He nodded. "Yes, but I am hoping you will ask your mother to send us our things from the Opera House. She might be angry that I ask this of her, but perhaps, if I ask Monsieur Buchard to assist her, it would make things easier. He is, after all, used to keeping secrets for his clients."

"But if he realizes that he is working for the Phantom of the Opera, things might get messy for us," I pointed out. "I'm sure Mama could handle it, if she asked Meg or Christine to help. Three sets of hands are better than one."

My husband smiled affectionately at me. "A good thought, but when it comes to secrets, I'm afraid I don't trust your sisters."

Rolling my eyes, I sighed. "Well, considering Christine kept her voice lessons with you a secret, one would have to admit that says a lot about her. As for Meg-"

Erik looked at me in shock. "You knew about the voice lessons? How?"

"A few years ago, I followed Christine to the chapel one night and found you both out," I calmly replied, going to a wall mirror to tidy up my hair a bit. "I have to admit, you did wonders for her voice. She sounded lovely in _Hannibal_."

Strong arms grasped my shoulders and turned me around, forcing me to look up into Erik's eyes. "You astound me, my angel. You knew of this for so long, and said nothing when most would have forbidden me to do what I did. Why did you choose to let the lessons go on?"

Since I couldn't tell him the truth, I had to improvise. Reaching up, I gently touched his face, including the mask on the right side. "I wanted Christine to become more than a mere ballerina. I heard her sing that night in the chapel, and knew that she could become great. You gave her something Mama and I couldn't, and we owe you a great deal for that."

He bent forward and kissed me softly. "You owe me nothing. In fact, I believe it is _I_ who owes _you_, far more than I could ever repay."

As we moved closer for another kiss, a swift knock on the door of the railcar broke the moment, and we both sighed. As he reluctantly pulled away from me, Erik called for the visitor to enter, and greeted the elderly stationmaster in Italian.

I had managed to pick up bits and pieces of Italian from the operas performed at the Populaire, but sadly, not enough to really pick up or take part in a conversation. It was so frustrating! I was now in one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in the world, and couldn't understand anything anyone was saying around me!

'_I don't suppose you could help me out with this_?' I asked, sending a silent prayer to Destiny as Erik and the stationmaster conversed.

"Sure, sweetie," Destiny whispered in my ear. "However, you won't be actually getting the help until you arrive in Venice and start looking for it."

Then she was gone, leaving me to try and take in what she's said. Finally, I gave up. Maybe Destiny's bit of 'assistance' would appear tomorrow or something.

After about five minutes, the stationmaster left, and Erik turned to me, looking extremely pleased. "They will take our things to the villa in a hired cart. You and I, however, shall take a leisurely ride in a gondola."

He laughed at the excited squeal I gave as I threw my arms around him.

* * *

Watching his beloved's features, Erik smiled at the looks of awe and excitement that danced across her face. Lissie seemed to not only be enjoying herself, but admiring the beauty that was Venice.

From the moment they had been escorted to their gondola, Lissie had practically been beside herself with eagerness to see the city. He found her adorable as she stared, wide-eyed, at everything around her and pointed out beautiful bridges, villas, and other bits of architecture. Erik was sure he could not find another woman in the world who loved and appreciated Italian work the way Lissie did –he had most found his match in her.

During the ride to the villa, Erik found himself sharing in Lissie's excitement and curiosity as to what the inside of their new home would look like. It should be exactly as he'd described to Monsieur Buchard: large, in excellent or perfect condition, and fully furnished. Erik very much wanted to settle his wife into a home that was as lovely as she was.

When they arrived in the small, private little pier of an immense house that could be a small palace, Erik looked it over, impressed. The outside was of reddish-pink stone, with white and crème trim along each edge. The trim was engraved with graceful, elegant designs, and there were green shutters over the windows. Obviously, the pier was wood, and it was more than wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side without fear of falling into the water. There was a railing along the pier, painted black with gold trim, and it looked more like a work of art than a mere railing.

"Oh, Erik," Lissie breathed. "It's beautiful!"

He gave her an indulgent smile. "First, let us see the inside. Then we will see if it meets my expectations."

Gently, he handed his lady out onto the pier and tipped the gondolier handsomely, asking him to wait. "In case we do not like the interior," Erik explained.

The man shook his head with a smile. "I do not think you'll be unhappy with it. This is one of the finest villas in the city; it once belonged to a rich Englishman who died without an heir, so the city council decided to rent it to the highest bidder. You, Signore, are that bidder. I think you will be very pleased with it, but I will wait until you or a servant returns to tell me to go."

Erik nodded his thanks and escorted Lissie up the pier to the back entrance of the villa. Inside a small entry hall, they were greeted by a butler and the housekeeper. The woman was short and round, dressed in a dark blue dress and apron. The butler was her opposite: tall and thin, but dressed in a blue coat with silver trim. Both servants were somewhat elderly, but their faces were kind, if somewhat nervous, as they both bobbed in respect and greeted him in, of all languages, English. Of course, if their master had been an Englishman, it would make sense that the servants would speak English, or actually be English themselves.

"Good day, sir," welcomed the housekeeper. "I am Deborah Wilkins, and this is my husband, Arnold. We both served the previous owner of the house, and were the only ones who chose to stay on after he passed. Both Arnold and I can speak English and Italian, as well as a bit of French, though not much. Which language would you prefer?"

"French, but I understand English and Italian," Erik replied. "My wife-"

"Can understand and speak English perfectly well," Lissie said in perfect English, surprising him. "I learned it where I was growing up. We had many English visitors, and I managed to pick it up as I grew older."

Well, that was true; many English aristocrats visited the Paris Opera, so it shouldn't have surprised him that Lissie learned to speak their tongue. It made sense, if only so Lissie could understand what was being said around her.

The butler, Arnold, bowed his head. "As you wish, Ma'am. But I strongly advise you to learn Italian as well, so that you may communicate with the rest of the city. Most of those who visit or live here are either Englishmen or Italian, with only a sprinkling of French."

"We are most pleased that you are renting this house, Sir," Deborah said.

Erik nodded. "My wife and I have yet to decide if we will stay. We wish to see the house first."

Deborah nodded. "This way," she said, leading them into the main hallway

As they entered the main part of the house, Lissie looked up and gasped.

* * *

The interior of the villa was magnificent. I couldn't believe how gorgeous it was. Elegant woods, marbles, vases, and wall-hangings were everywhere I looked, and dangling from the ceiling were shimmering chandeliers that would look marvelous when they were fully lit. Even Erik was impressed, and that was no easy thing.

As Deborah and Arnold led us through the house, my breath was continuously taken away with how elegant and luxurious the villa was.

First was the main entry; a huge, beautifully decorated space where at least two dozen people could crowd comfortably and chat about anything. At the end of the hallway was a graceful, curving stairway that led upstairs, likely to the bedrooms that would house Erik and me, as well as any overnight guests we would have. Tucked far on the other side of the entryway was a mahogany door, which probably led to the kitchen.

To my right stood a pair of French doors leading to a large dining room. The mahogany table had enough room to seat a dozen people, and could probably be lengthened to seat more. The walls were dark brown, matching the table and a fireplace in the wall, giving it a warm, earthly feel. All along the walls were lovely paintings of ancient Roman goddesses, nymphs, and muses dancing about.

Next to the dining room was an impressive pair of doors which led to a grand ballroom, complete with chandelier, marble fireplace, and wonderfully detailed murals and engravings on the walls. I had no idea how to put together a ball, but I began to imagine how the place would look when it was filled with men and women in their finest. Six pairs of French doors led outside to marble balconies where guests could go to cool off after too much dancing.

We then began a tour of the left side of the house. The first door on the left led to a good-sized public sitting room, painted a happy shade of golden yellow and trimmed in white, clearly meant to receive guests in and to serve tea. A small piano stood in the corner, and opposite the door was a fireplace to offer warmth when needed. There were also several tables meant for card games, chess, or checkers.

A second door on the left led to an impressive library. Erik's eyes lit up at the shelves full of books, and I knew that this would become one of his favorite rooms. It would probably be a favorite of mine, too.

Up the gracefully curving stairwell and on to the second floor, I started to get the feeling that my guess about it just being bedrooms was wrong. Here the stairs ended and a length of carpeted hallway ran, giving a person easy access to the different rooms. An intricately crafted, heavy wood banister wrapped around the area near the stairwell, standing higher than my stomach, clearly a safeguard to prevent anyone from falling over it.

The first door that greeted us as we stepped off the stairs was opened by Deborah. "This door goes to the master's study," she said as the door opened. "Here there are windows that overlook the main canal, and windows that face the wall of the neighboring house."

The study was a large, bright room that was perfect for doing work in, the wall thick to keep out most sounds and the heat of the day. Bookshelves lined two walls, and there was a huge desk placed right by the windows overlooking the canal. Beside me, Erik was beaming like a child who had finally gotten his own bedroom. Now he had a bright place to work without needing to light a single candle, unless he wanted to work at night.

"And for you, Madame, there is a small parlor room," Arnold stated. "It sits on right of the study. It hasn't been used in ages, since our master had been a bachelor, but we've kept it in perfect order."

I turned, walked out of the study, and followed the hallway straight to a white door trimmed with gold paint. Turning the handle, I took a peek inside. It was painted in a soothing shade of light blue-violet trimmed in white. The furniture was dark wood upholstered in shining dark blue or purple materials, and the bookshelves were of pale brown wood. Like Erik and his study, I immediately fell in love with my little parlor.

"There's another room on the other side of the study, which had been used as a smoking room," Arnold explained. "Do you smoke, Monsieur Garnier?"

Erik grimaced. "I detest the smell of any kind of cigar, cigarette, or pipe. I will likely turn it into a place where I may work on my artistic hobbies."

Deborah nodded. "I've taken the liberty of airing out that room, and can be rid of the contents whenever you wish."

"The rooms opposite the parlor and study are the master bedroom and connecting bath," Arnold informed us, pointing towards the other doors. "The mattress and sheets have been replaced, and we've left different samples of scented soap for you to choose from. Debbie or I can obtain larger amounts of your favorite scent tomorrow."

Deborah nodded. "There is a large tub in the bathing room, with plumbing, so there'll be no need to wait for us to boil water in the kitchen. If you still wish water from the kitchen, then we will need to hire at least three more girls to do so."

"We will need them anyway, if only to keep up with the cooking and the cleaning," Arnold put in. "Debbie's a fine cook for, but you'll need to hire a professional one who can prepare elegant foods for feasts, parties, and balls. The city council has been sending a group to help clean and maintain this place, but you will need to hire more servants to help with the upkeep."

"I will be sure to take care of that," Erik declared glancing around. "What is that over there?" He nodded to the opening, which looked more like a large, decorated plaster arch that led to another part of the house.

Deborah shrugged. "It's mostly space that hasn't been used since we've been here. Our previous employer was content with this area, and the rest was left to disuse. I think those rooms had likely been a nursery and bedrooms for children, as the rooms are in their own hall and away from the study and master bedroom."

I flushed at the thought of kids. Since I was counting on having Erik to myself for a while, I was seriously crossing my fingers and hoping that we wouldn't be having children anytime soon.

Erik seemed to be pleased, though. "My wife and I will remain here for the foreseeable future," he decided. "Tomorrow, the two of you will start making inquiries about hiring some new staff."

Arnold bobbed his head. "Well, Debbie and I will let you get acquainted with the place," he said, taking his wife by the hand. "There are servant bell pulls in each room if you need anything."

Erik nodded, and the two quickly vanished down the stairs. When they were out of sight, Erik sighed. "Right, then," he muttered. "Let's see our bedroom, shall we?"

Again, I blushed, but let him take my hand and led me into the master bedroom. It was a large rectangular room, the longer wall sporting two large windows with small balconies overlooking a small canal and some of the villa next door. The shorter wall also supported a balcony, and overlooked the pretty cobblestone street out front. The interior was as beautiful as the rest of the villa, with the theme being gold, white and crème. It was very elegant, but simple, and I rather liked it.

Erik, however, didn't seem to care for it. "There is no color," he said, eying the entire room.

"Well, what would you prefer?" I sarcastically remarked. "Black and red, or something equally dramatic?"

Uh, oh, there was that look, the one he got whenever he was inspired. I could see the wheels turning, and knew Erik was changing the décor of the bedroom inside his head. "No changing the furniture," I firmly told him. "If you want to change the color theme, I'll let you, but the furniture stays the same!"

Erik sighed, but nodded. "Let's see the bathing room, shall we?"

The bathroom had windows that overlooked the street as well; luckily, the glass had been created with many waves and bubbles in it so that light could get in, but no one could see in or out. And to my utter relief, there _was_ plumbing in the bathroom, not only in the tub, but also the toilet! Thank goodness for that. Indoor plumbing was relatively rare in these parts, but perhaps Destiny was taking pity on me and wanted me to be comfortable.

On top of our separate vanities were small samples of bar soap, each labeled with their scent. I sniffed each one, set aside my favorites, and went over to the large window that overlooked the streets of Venice. Parting the lace under curtains, I noticed that it was getting later in the day, and saw many people heading off to dinner in a restaurant or café, or going home to get ready for an evening party or night at the theater. The air was filled with talk, laughter, and even musicians coming out to perform.

"Do you wish to go out this evening?" Erik asked, coming up behind me to wrap his arms around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.

I shook my head. "No, not today," I replied. "It's been a long journey, and I'm not only tired, but famished! I don't think I could last long at the theater or opera, and I'd like to have a quiet meal at a table that isn't swaying back and forth."

He chuckled softly. "As you wish. I will go downstairs and tell Deborah that we will dine in tonight. If you have chosen your soaps, I will take them down as well."

Erik was back before long, a tray in his hands and a bemused look on his face. "It seems our housekeeper knew we would be hungry and prepared a feast for us."

The food was mostly appetizers: fresh tomato slices topped with mozzarella cheese; toasted bread coated with a mixture of chopped tomatoes and herbs; cantaloupe wrapped with Italian ham, and an assortment of pickled vegetables. There were even oysters, the sight of which made me blush. I knew what happens when you serve oysters to a newlywed couple!

When we finished, I took a long, soaking bath and changed into my nightgown before crawling into bed, both the journey and the day taking their tolls on me. Erik was quick to join me, and just as I drifted off to sleep, I heard his soft voice in my ear.

"Rest well, my angel," he said, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Tomorrow we will start truly living, and I will show you the wonders of this city."

I fell asleep fully content, and with a smile on my face.

* * *

AN: More Venice to come next chapter. I hope you enjoyed yourself and will review. Thanks!


	4. Finding Hired Help

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: I'm introducing a new character in this chapter, since I feel that Lissie deserves a friend in Venice. I hope you like her as much as I do. Please have fun reading, and review. Thanks!

**Chapter 4: Finding Hired Help:**

When the next morning dawned, I woke up with Erik tucked snuggly around me. His strong arms were wrapped around my waist while his head rested gently on top of mine, his chest pressed firmly against my back. It was as if he were trying to be sure that I wouldn't run away now that I wasn't confined to a moving train.

Yawning, I looked towards the window and smiled. The bedroom was perfectly situated to catch the sun in the morning, and I'd no doubt that Erik's study and my little parlor would be perfectly lit in the afternoons on sunny days. I had to remember to do some reading in there as soon as I got a chance.

Behind me, Erik shifted in his sleep and muttered something under his breath. I grinned. During the trip here, I'd noticed a lot of things about my new husband. First, he didn't like sleeping alone, and always tried to get as physically close to me as possible while we slept. Second, he tended to mutter or hum softly in his sleep, which, surprisingly, didn't bother me; it was actually kind of soothing.

'_And, of course, he's very affectionate_,' I thought, remembering our nights together. '_For a man who has no experience with women, he's very skilled in that area_.'

There was more shifting behind me, and I felt a gentle kiss pressed to my shoulder. "Good morning," he whispered into my ear. "Did you sleep well?"

Rolling over, I looked up into sleep-dazed green eyes. "Very well, thank you. And you?"

He smiled. "I always sleep well when you are with me."

Blushing, I ignored his amused chuckle. "Last night you said you would show me the city. When should we start out?"

Erik scowled, deep in thought. "We will likely have to leave late this morning. From the anxious way they were acting yesterday, I believe that Deborah and Arnold have a few things to discuss with us before we leave."

Reluctantly, we got up and dressed, then went downstairs for breakfast. Our morning meal consisted of rolls with jam and butter, biscotti, hot chocolate and coffee. I had disliked the taste of coffee in my previous life (though the smell was okay), but the sludge served in the Opera House had put me off the stuff for life. Erik, however, was perfectly happy to try a cappuccino while I drank his share of the hot chocolate.

When the dishes were cleared away, Deborah and Arnold approached the table, both looking rather nervous as they cast pleading looks my way.

"Sir, Madame, we were wondering if you'd given any thought to our suggestion of hiring more staff," Arnold gently put forward. "With so much work to be done in order to keep the house clean and in good order, we believe it'd be best to do so."

To their surprise, Erik nodded. "I agree. How many would you suggest?"

They both agreed that there had to be at least two or three maids, mostly for light cleaning, laundry, and running small errands. There would have to be a few male servants to help with the more serious repairs, and to make trips for objects a maid could not be counted on to handle with her own hands.

"Madame will also need a personal maid to assist with dressing her and her hair," Deborah said, eying me as though she couldn't figure out how I'd gotten dressed this morning.

I sipped my hot chocolate, not wanting her to know that I was able to dress and do my hair on my own. Occasionally, if I needed help with a more complicated dress, Erik could help me, but it was none of her business how I dressed and undressed.

On the other hand, she was sort of right. Erik wouldn't always be there to help me, and since he was an artist and bound to keep odd hours, I couldn't count on him to regularly be there for me whenever I had to change. Thus, I had to have a maid.

As I finished my chocolate, Erik waved a dismissive hand at Deborah. "My wife will be the one to choose her personal maid. Meanwhile, I trust the two of you to hire what staff we need, or is deemed appropriate for a house of this size."

They both bowed, and Deborah raced back to the kitchen while Arnold stood there politely waiting for orders. "Sir, will you be needing anything else? I can summon a gondola if you and Madame are going out."

Erik shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Arnold, but thank you. We will be taking a short walking tour around the neighborhood, and will be eating out for lunch."

"Very good, sir," Arnold said, bowing slightly. "Pray keep in mind that, in regards to most eateries, lunch is not served until one o'clock, and if you are to have supper out as well, it is not served until eight o' clock in the evening."

As my husband calmly dismissed our butler, I could tell he was not happy. Erik was used to eating whenever he was hungry, and didn't believe in having a strict schedule when it came to meals. I would have to tell Deborah that, in the future, after Erik had begun his artistic ventures, she should always keep something ready-made for when he got hungry.

Ten minutes after our dishes were cleared away, Erik and I began a walk along the streets of Venice. My eyes were everywhere, taking in the sights as my other senses went into overdrive. Lord, there was so much to see and admire, right there on our doorstep!

"Well, what shall we do first?" Erik asked, looking at the small map of our neighborhood that Arnold had put into his palm.

I grinned. "Shop, of course!"

He sighed. "Of course."

* * *

Even though I'd spent this entire lifetime in Paris, I'd never been able to do much shopping there. My family was too poor to go to the more expensive dress shops, so most of our clothes had been made by the smaller, more commonplace stores that catered to our class. But for mending rips and tears, or for letting down the hems of our dresses, we went to the seamstresses in the Opera House, or did it ourselves. The only truly expensive outfits I'd ever owned had been gifts from Erik.

Things were different now, but it was still hard for me to remember that. A part of me still remembered having little or no money, and it kept telling me _not_ to buy things, that the money had to be put aside for an emergency or for something _needed_ instead of merely _wanted_. That didn't sit too well with Erik, because as we walked down a busy street packed full of market stalls, he had to keep reminding me that he would buy me whatever I wanted. It was still hard to let go of the past, though.

"Lissie, you're driving me mad by staring at everything and sighing. Please pick something and let me buy it for you," Erik pleaded as we passed a stall selling Venetian lace fans.

I looked at him. He seemed a little out of sorts, but it might have been because he was out in public. No doubt Erik was unhappy with the occasional curious glance cast his way, but people were surprisingly calm and collected about seeing a man in a mask.

Gently patting and stroking his arm to sooth him, I smiled. "Don't be so worried," I whispered to him. "They're probably just curious about why you wear the mask. We can always come up with some sort of reason why you must wear it. How would you like to be the victim of a fire, or some other kind of accident?"

His mouth twitched upwards in amusement. "That would be an interesting tale to create. I look forward to hearing your ideas."

We both chuckled and continued on our way through the bustling market. I found so many delicate and beautiful things, from lace to objects made from the infamous Venetian glass, and even handcrafted works of art carved into wood and stone. Erik purchased a set of paint brushes, several tins of paint, and a stack of canvas easels, all of which a pair of young boys happily offered to deliver, for a price. I was concerned about strangers handling Erik's expensive purchases, but he seemed to trust that everything would arrive safely at home, so I let it go.

"And now we must buy you something, my dearest," Erik declared as we turned back towards the villa.

Our return trip took us back through the marketplace, and I was forced to look at a hundred things that I wanted to buy, but was sure I had no use for. In the end, Erik practically ordered me to pick something, or _he_ would.

In the end, I walked away from the market with a basket full of treasures. From my wrist dangled a fan made of fine white Venetian lace. In the basket (which Erik had purchased for my use), rested a few glass pieces to decorate the villa with. I had chosen a matching set of magnificent red-and-gold vases in the shape of a tall, blossoming flower, and a few rainbow-tinted ornaments that could be hung to dangle in the windows of Erik's study, my parlor, and our bedroom.

Erik was more than happy with my choices, and promised me more shopping ventures into the city whenever I wished. "And perhaps, in the future, there will also be nights at the theater, the opera, and concert halls," he said.

We left the basket and my fan at the villa, and proceeded to go find lunch. By then, it was after one o'clock, and my stomach was rumbling with hunger. To make matters worse, there were so many places to eat at, it was impossible to decide where we wanted to have lunch. I finally gave in and followed my nose to the nearest café, where I'd scented tomato sauce, seafood, and bread.

Here, I was once again astounded at the way Italian's ate. Erik and I again received several courses, staring with cold cuts and ending with dessert. In between we were served a marvelous dish of mixed fresh seafood, and a side dish of pickled vegetables that were absolutely delicious. Dessert was a light chocolate mousse, which I tried to savor and devour at the same time.

Happily full, Erik and I slowly, and sleepily, made our way home for an afternoon nap.

* * *

I was awakened by Erik's hand on my shoulder, shaking me gently. "Lissie, I must speak to you."

Opening my eyes, I rolled over and glared at him. "Says the man who always threatened me with a Punjab lasso whenever I tried to wake him from a nap."

He smirked. "Yes, well, this is my small act of revenge for those past actions of yours. Will you hear what I have to say?" After I nodded, he continued. "Lissie, Arnold has asked me to interview the servants that he and Deborah have found for us. However, in the case of your personal maid, _you_ will have to do the interviewing for that particular position."

I stared at him. "_You_ are going to interview the servants?" I asked, skeptically. "But you hate people! Why not have me do it?"

Erik smiled and pressed a swift kiss to my lips. "I know that I cannot hide forever. I want to start a new life out in the world with you, and to do that, I need to become more, ah, social. I will begin doing this today while I speak to the new servants. Hopefully, they will not mind working for a man in a mask."

Returning his kiss with one of my own, I reached up and caressed his "good" cheek. "It will be fine. I'm sure they'll realize that if a man wears a mask, he must have a good reason to. And speaking of which, did you think of a good tale to tell everyone?"

Indeed he had. As Erik helped me dress, he told me that we would be going with a tale involving a hunting accident, where he had been thrown from a horse and, mercifully, only had his face scarred as he'd landed on the harsh forest floor, instead of being killed.

"And I shall be the angelic savior, your beloved former housekeeper-turned-wife," I teased as he finished tying the ribbons on the back of my dress.

Erik snorted. "Indeed. Hopefully, this will not cause us to be snubbed; me for my face, and you for being the servant-turned-mistress of the house."

I waved his words aside. "The only people worth knowing will be those who accept us for who we are," I said, pressing a kiss to his chin. "Now, go downstairs and start choosing our hired help."

He reluctantly went downstairs to do so, leaving me alone with my thoughts. So I had to pick a personal maid?

"This is not going to be easy," I muttered, looking at the floor length mirror in the corner.

However, Erik and Deborah were right; I would need a maid to help me get ready for social events, and to help me dress in the fancy evening gowns that Erik would no doubt be buying for me in the near future. If we were going out to the theater, the opera, or for parties, there was no possible way I could prepare myself with my own hands. My hair, face, gown, and a number of things would have to be seen to, and I had no idea what all of them required.

'_Not that I'd had any need for dressing up, considering my situation in life_.'

The only times I'd ever dressed up had been for the Populaire's New Year's Eve Masquerade, and that was when I'd had Meg, Christine, and Mama fussing over me. Evening gowns were just as elaborate as the costumes I'd worn, and probably as complicated to get into and out of. And since Erik would be too busy getting himself ready, he would have no time to help me.

I chewed my lower lip. '_I guess we could hire a man to help Erik with his formal attire, but he's managed so far on his own. Plus, he probably wouldn't like having a stranger see his face, or being anywhere near him_.'

Nope, it would be me that would need the most help. Erik even managed to shave himself, though how the heck he'd learned to shave was beyond. Maybe he had watched the managers of the Opera shave, and followed their example? The regular Opera workers had shaved infrequently, while the managers always took care with their appearance.

'_Okay, back on track here_,' I chided myself. '_I need a maid_. _I know __**why**__ I need one, and it's probably a good idea to have one, but there's one little thing that bothers me about the whole thing_.'

That 'thing' was Erik. No, I didn't mean it in a bad way, but Erik was the center of my problem, which was actually more like a fear. The thought that lingered in the back of my head was: what if my maid discovered Erik's secret?

_That_ terrified me. Legends of the Phantom had circulated throughout Paris for years, but I had no idea if they'd spread outside of France or not. If the stories about Erik had come to Italy, and they found out his secret, he'd no doubt be killed, and I along with him. That would be bad.

Glancing at the ceiling, I muttered, "A little help here, Destiny? Please?"

The door slowly swung shut, and a swirl of glitter appeared before me. Seconds later, there was my boss and occasional benefactor. "Yes, Lissie, what is it? I've got a meeting in ten minutes, and it never works out well if Destiny is late."

I tried to imagine her in a meeting, and almost laughed. For some reason, I pictured her in a somber board room with a bunch of other anthropomorphic personifications, sitting at a big table and looking bored out of her mind as the others talked. I don't think meetings and Destiny really "clicked."

She must have been reading my face or my thoughts, because she actually snorted in amusement. "Yes, meetings and I don't normally go together, but Fate and I've got an appointment with Death, and he hates it when we're late."

My eyes went wide. "Death?" I squeaked, feeling my insides quiver.

Destiny waved a dismissive hand at me. "Don't worry about it. He's not a skull in a hooded cloak, and he's not a bad guy; he's just got a nasty job that no one else really likes or understands. Now, tell me what's up so I can get going."

She listened carefully as I quickly blurted out my problem, and afterwards, I sat there as my boss smiled and reached over to pat my cheek. "Don't worry, sweetie. Just keep an eye out for the girl with a heart of gold on her breast, and you'll know what I'm talking about." With that, she vanished in a swirl of glitter.

About three seconds later, Deborah knocked on my door, declaring that there was someone here to interview for position as my personal maid. Breathing deeply, I immediately went downstairs to the sitting room. There stood a young woman with light brown hair, big brown eyes, and the most worry-filled face I'd ever seen. She couldn't have been more than seventeen years old, by the look of her, but then, appearances could be deceiving.

"Madame," she said with a curtsey. "I heard you were looking for a personal maid."

I blinked at her, and realized that she's spoken in French! Oh, thank goodness. English had been my only language in my previous life, which I'd carried over to this one, so at least I'd been able to talk with Deborah and Arnold. But if this girl could speak French…

"Yes, we are," I replied in the same tongue. "Please sit down and tell me about yourself?"

Her name was Nora Leclaire, and she was half-Italian, half-French, her father having been a French workman and her mother an Italian maid. Both parents had once been employed by a wealthy French family, and both were now too tired and worn out to work any longer. Since Nora was their only child, she had decided it was time for her to take care of her parents, who had moved into a house currently inhabited by Monsieur Leclaire's sister and her family.

To my surprise, Nora was fluent in both French and Italian, and was perfectly able to teach me Italian, and translate Italian into French for me while I learned the language.

"But what do you parents think about you becoming a maid?" I asked. "You seem a bit young to be a personal maid to someone."

She shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "I know I am young, Madame, but my mother trained me well. I can style hair in the latest fashions, and cosmetics are of no trouble. My fingers can handle all manner of buttons, ribbons, strings and hooks, so dressing you for an evening out is something I can do easily as well. And being young, I can stay up late and wait for your return with no difficulties."

I had to admit, Nora had potential, eagerness, and energy, but was she the right girl for the job?

Just then, as she was adjusting her collar, a gold locket slipped out to land on her breast, right over her heart. I blinked as I looked at the heart-shaped piece of jewelry, and could swear that I heard Destiny laughing at me inside my head.

"Nora, I hope you realize that you will also serve as my translator whenever I go out into town," I said, eying her carefully. "You will also have to teach me Italian, since I do not speak it, though my husband is fluent in it."

She smiled and nodded. "I'd be most happy to do so, Madame. I am connected with the local shopkeepers, so they will not try and cheat you like they would others."

That settled it. "You're hired," I declared, holding out my hand. "When can you start?"

* * *

AN: Please review!


	5. Life's Adjustments

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: I'd like to point out that Nora is not going to be developing any romantic interest in Erik; she's just here to be Lissie's constant friend and companion. So, with that said, I'd like to wish everyone a good time while reading, and I hope that you'll leave a review when finished. Thanks.

**Chapter 5: Life's Adjustments:**

Less than an hour after I hired her, Nora moved her things into a small room in the servants' quarters. Technically, a lady's maid was supposed to sleep in a room close to her mistress, but since Erik and I shared a bedroom, that arrangement was not possible, for obvious reasons.

When I'd told her of our sleeping arrangements, Nora had been surprised, but it didn't take her long to see that, unlike in most upper-class marriages, Erik and I truly loved each other. She said that we were a lovely couple, and that we reminded her of her own loving parents: George, her hard-working father whose bones were starting to ache, and her loving, stubborn mother, Maria, who had started to grow as weary as her husband.

"They are both good people, but after Papa and Mama began to slow in their abilities to work, they were dismissed," Nora told me while we unpacked her things, her voice bitter. "After so many years of loyal hard work, they were just tossed aside, like old worn shoes."

Nora had been born to her parents late in their lives, and now that they could no longer provide for themselves, she had decided it was her turn to care for them. I saw how much she loved her mother and father, as I loved my own Mama, and completely understood her situation. If I'd stayed in Paris and not married Erik, I would have taken care of my mother as well.

Once she was settled in, I gave my new maid a quick tour of the house, but not the secluded hallway and bedrooms, since I hadn't had the chance to see them yet. In the end, Nora convinced me to go explore it with her, if only to see what was there. Deborah had said that these were supposed to be for children, but when Nora and I looked around, I could find no evidence of such.

Well, that technically wasn't true. There _was_ a large room that _could_ have served as a nursery, as well as five bedrooms. However, none of the rooms seemed to be decorated for children, but were more like elegant guest quarters instead.

"It looks as though these rooms had never once belonged to little ones," Nora said, taking in the richly painted walls and removing a few dust sheets from the art hanging on the walls.

I had to agree with her, though why Deborah would assume these had been meant for _children_ was beyond me. Perhaps they had once housed children, but had been redecorated when the owner prior to us had moved in? That could be it.

All five rooms either: a) had walls painted with solid colors and hung with impressive painting, or b) had marvelous murals painted on every inch of space. All were furnished quite elegantly, though the mattresses seemed to be missing.

'_Well, no matter. When Mama and Meg came to visit, there will be plenty of room for them_.'

Then, to my surprise, Nora found a good-sized stairwell at the end of the hallway, and concluded that they were either for the servants, or for guests to ascend when they didn't want to disturb their hosts by going up and down the main stairs.

By the time we finished exploring, darkness was falling, and it was time for supper. Nora went to the kitchen for her meal while I went in search of Erik. I found him in the dining room, seated at the head of the table, with another place set for me. The moment he saw me, he leaped to his feet and pulled out the chair for me.

"Madame," he said with a bow. "Dinner will be served shortly."

Smiling, I took my seat and waited for Arnold to bring dinner. Imagine my surprise when a middle-aged man I had never seen before set a covered platter in front of me.

"Good evening," the man said with a bow. He had a thick Italian accent, but spoke in fairly decent French. "I am Carlos, and I will be replacing Arnold in the dining area service."

That didn't sit well with me. Though I'd only known him a few hours total, I liked Arnold. Carlos, with his long, grim face, a tall, thin frame and arrow-straight posture, he seemed a bit too stuffy for my taste.

"Carlos is Arnold's close friend," Erik explained. "As are all the staff members we've hired today, though I should say it's more of a form of _re_-hiring, as they had once worked for the late owner of the villa."

Oh, well, that was a different story. I had felt terrible knowing that so many had been forced to leave and work elsewhere when their master had died. Now that some of them had been brought back here, I felt a weight lifting off my shoulders.

"Thank you, Carlos," I said, smiling up at him. "Welcome back. I hope you will enjoy working for us as much as you did your previous master."

The grimness on Carlos's face softened, the scowl of his mouth tilting upwards slightly. His eyes, which had resembled hard black beads, began to warm a bit. "I believe I shall, Madame. Both Deborah and Arnold seem happy with you, and they are excellent judges of character. We all consider it an honor and a pleasure to be under your employ."

My plate was then uncovered, and Erik and I began our meal, with Carlos hovering nearby in case we should need anything. Out in the hallway, I could hear footsteps, soft chatter in feminine voices, and once and a while, a male voice giving what sounded like orders to the other servants. Confused at what was happening, I looked over at my husband, who was barely hiding a smirk.

"They are merely getting the house in perfect order," he explained. "Apparently this place can be made even more magnificent, if we have the servants doing their parts, so Arnold is out making sure that every inch of the villa is in perfect condition."

I didn't see how much better the place could look, since I thought it was already gorgeous. But if it made Erik and the servants happy, then I was all for it.

Our meal ended with a dish of sorbet, and once the dishes had been cleared, Erik led me towards the library. "I would like us to spend some time together," he explained.

As we walked through the breathtaking hall, I saw that elaborate bouquets of flowers had been put into large decorative vases, and that the vases were set up on any table that looked strong enough to hold them. There were even a few marble columns that bore vases of flowers or beautifully carved wooden bowls with potted plants.

"Oh, how lovely," I breathed, reaching for a trimmed white rose. "Erik, where did all this come from?"

The smirk he had been wearing earlier returned, then widened. "I thought I would try and make the house a bit more decorated, for your sake. If you'd like, we can have potted flowers or miniature trees replace the bouquets of flowers, or strategically place Venetian glass vases to catch the light of the sun or candles."

I stood up on my toes and pressed a kiss to his chin. "You are wonderful," I praised him as I tucked the rose into his coat.

Beaming, Erik continued to lead me into the library, still talking about how to make our villa the most magnificent house in our part of town. He was still talking about his ideas when we sat down on the couch, but stopped when he saw the look of amusement on my face.

"And what, may I ask, is so funny?" he asked indignantly.

"You," I replied, smiling. "I never thought I'd see the day where _you_ would be happily planning the interior decoration of a home."

Erik snorted. "That is because I have never had such an opulent home in my life. It's much like living in a museum, and I want to keep it as pristine and breathtaking as possible. That's one of the reasons why I chose Italy in the first place. Well, besides the fact that you've always dreamed of riding in a true Venetian gondola."

I stared at him in surprise. "You remember that? But I told you that years ago!"

Those green eyes of his softened. "I remember everything you have ever told me about yourself, from your tastes in music, to your favorite foods, to your dreams and desires. Believe me when I say that I intend to make all of your dreams come true, and that you are happy."

Touched by his words, I threw my arms around his neck and pulled Erik close for a loving kiss. I squeaked when he pulled me into his lap, and it wasn't long before we were making our way upstairs, where we made sure to lock the bedroom door behind us.

* * *

As the days passed, I had to admit, things started looking a bit rosier after Erik had hired (or re-hired) the two dozen servants that had once served in our villa. We had not started with that many workers, but before two days had passed, even those who had managed to find new employment elsewhere had chosen to return. It was as though we were reuniting a family under our roof, with Erik and I being the newest additions. It seemed that their former employer had been much loved by the staff, and the servants had chosen to shift that love onto Erik and myself.

Much to my surprise, the servants seemed to take Erik's masked face in stride. Whether he was wearing his white mask, or the velvet-lined black one that covered the top half of his face, none of the maids burst into hysterics, and none of the men made snide remarks. No one turned away or shivered in fear, and none tried to tuck themselves into a dark corner whenever Erik entered a room or walked by. In fact, the servants all seemed to think the same as I did: that there was really nothing wrong with Erik, and that he was just like the rest of the world. Even Nora, sweet girl that she was, didn't mind Erik's mask –she, like all the other servants, had been told that a hunting accident had resulted in Erik's face becoming damaged, and had accepted it.

My husband, however, was slower in adjusting to having a house full of servants. He was used to isolation and loneliness, and having bustling servants around made him uncomfortable. So far, the only thing he liked about having so many servants was: 1) they cleaned up after us, and 2) they were able to convert the upstairs smoking room into an art studio in record time.

The smoking room had been aired, cleaned out entirely, and supplied according to Erik's orders. The shelves were now lined with instruments used for carving, sculpting, painting, and drawing. Easels stood in one corner while tables lined the walls, all of them brand new. I gave it about a week before the room looked like a tornado had gone through it.

In the back of my mind, I had a nagging feeling that maybe Destiny was behind our luck in having such wonderful hired help, though I resisted the urge to call her out on it. Maybe it was her way of making things comfortable for us by providing a house full of people who wouldn't judge us. I wouldn't have to worry about servants wondering why I had married a man with a face that wasn't 'whole,' nor about them trading gossip behind our backs.

Sadly, the same couldn't really be said about Venice's society.

* * *

It didn't take long for word to spread through the aristocracy about our arrival in Venice.

According to our servants (who were like our spies out in town), the rich and the nobility were all talking about Erik Garnier, the wealthy Frenchman, and his wife (aka: me). Many were curious, and more were anxious to meet us, so it wasn't that surprising that, about a week after our arrival, Erik and I received an invitation to the Venice Opera House.

I found it surprising that the Opera's managers had decided to invite us. However, since Erik and I had no friends in Venice, I guess the managers felt the need to do so, especially since we were the new curiosity in town. If Erik and I accepted their invitation, then word would spread, and the rest of Venetian society would be at the Opera as well, just to get a look at us.

"Like animals in a zoo," Erik said, his voice dark and bitter, clearly remembering his time with the gypsies.

We'd been tempted to decline the offer, but the invitation had included free (yes, free!) use of one of their best boxes, so how could we refuse? Besides, I knew that Erik was dying to see a true Italian opera, and I wanted to make him happy, so of course I told him we should go.

This was why Erik was currently in his study, changing into his evening attire, and why I was presently having my hair pulled out by Nora.

No, not really, but it certainly felt like it. Nora was as skilled as she claimed, and had very quickly dressed me in a glorious evening gown, which had been one of the dresses provided for me by Erik. The gown was made of rich amber silk and satin, with black lace covering the bodice and trimming every edge in sight. The effect was dramatic, and very appropriate for a night out to the opera.

Around my neck was a magnificent necklace of topaz stones the color of honey, which Erik had magically conjured for me for the night. I hadn't seen it in the railcar, but that didn't mean anything; Erik was the Phantom, after all, and if he wanted to keep a stash of jewels hidden from me, he could do it quite successfully.

Last of all was my hair, which Nora was combing, brushing, pinning, and decorating with the strength and precision of a super soldier. My scalp was hurting like hell, but I'd always heard the divas at the Populaire saying that "beauty is pain, and pain is beauty," so I guess it was necessary for an evening out on the town. Of course, the female patrons of the Populaire had been just as coiffed and primped as I was going to be tonight, so I shouldn't complain. Still, this certainly was a long way from the small apartment I'd grown up in back in Paris.

"There, all finished, Madame," Nora said, standing back to admire her work. "And you do look lovely."

"Indeed she does," Erik said, coming into the room. "Thank you, Nora, you may go. I will help my wife with the rest of her attire."

Smiling, I let Erik help me with my shawl, my cloak, and let him tie my lace fan to my wrist. As he worked, I admired the tall, dark, handsome vision he made, dressed entirely in black with one exception: the white mask on the right side of his face. How did I get to be so lucky?

"Madame," he said, offering his arm.

I smiled and took it, excited for the night ahead.

* * *

The opera was both a pleasure, and a torment. While I enjoyed being inside an Italian opera house, I couldn't understand a word of it, though Erik did his best to whisper translations of it into my ear. I finally told him to enjoy himself, and that he could tell me about it during the intermission. He reluctantly agreed, so I turned my eyes from the stage towards the audience.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted several patrons watching me from their boxes, and could feel even more eyes looking at us from the floor seats. To keep from drawing Erik's attention to it, I decided to ignore our observers and instead focus on the opera.

When intermission came, a bottle of fine champagne, a pair of glasses, and a platter of delicious appetizers arrived, "courtesy of the managers." To give us privacy, Erik drew the red velvet curtains around the box's exterior, giving me a chance to breathe.

"I know, my love," he said, handing me a chilled glass of champagne. "I felt their eyes, too, but sensed no hostility. They seem to be curious, at the most; only time will tell where their curiosity will lead."

My unease faded as Erik pressed a kiss to the back of my hand, and shivers went up my spine as the kiss turned into a dozen, his lips moving up my arm to my shoulder, where he began to press heated kisses to the side of my neck. Things might have gotten a bit more interesting if the orchestra hadn't begun to play, signaling the end of the intermission.

Cursing their timing, Erik sat back in his chair and glared at the curtain. "Perhaps we can slip away unnoticed?" he suggested, turning to eye the door.

"Now, that wouldn't do," I chided him teasingly. "Not when we are the current novelty of the city. No, we can finish the opera and slip out before the evening's entertainments begin."

Erik didn't seem happy with that, but at least the last half was shorter than the first. It didn't surprise me, however, that as soon as the last note was sung and the curtain had come down, Erik began tugging at my hand, eager to be off. I shook my head and reproached him for not being polite to the performers, and he reluctantly applauded along with the rest of the audience, but only for a moment.

"Now it's time to go," he hissed into my ear. I knew better than to argue this time.

Somehow, we managed to slip out before the rest of the patrons, without looking as though we were running for the exit. In fact, most of the audience was still applauding as Erik led me out the door and to the nearest gondola. A large tip had the gondolier rowing like a madman to get us home quickly, but that was where Erik's rush upstairs was stopped by Nora, who greeted us as we reached the top of the stairs.

"Madame will need me to help undress her properly," she said in a tone that eerily reminded me of Mama. "I'm sure you can wait. In the meantime, you might want to change as well, sir."

Grumbling curses under his breath, Erik went to the bathroom to change while Nora saw to my hair, dress, and jewelry. After what felt like an eternity, I was in my nightgown, and my cheeky maid was off to her own room. The minute she left, Erik was back, clad only in his dress shirt, slacks, and shoes, the white mask on his face slightly off kilter.

"I am sorely tempted to dismiss that maid of yours," he grumbled while kicking off his shoes and pulling at his shirt. "What annoying creatures maids are."

"But necessary," I added, chuckling as he finally joined me under the covers.

Erik didn't answer, his arms reaching for me as I blew out the light.

* * *

As she brushed her hair out, Nora marveled at her good fortune. She had a position that paid well, and she was working for a mistress who was kind and a joy to be with. Monsieur Garnier was Madame's opposite: cold and distant to those around him. However, it was clear he loved his wife dearly, and just as clear that Madame loved him, so perhaps he wasn't a bad man after all.

'_They remind me of how Mama and Papa are together_,' Nora thought to herself with a smile.

Her dear Mama and Papa. How proud and happy both of them had been when she'd told of the position she'd had obtained: a lady's maid to a good-hearted mistress not much older than Nora herself.

It was exactly what they had all been hoping for. With her parents unable to work any longer, Nora had gone in search of a position as soon as her mother deemed her fit to be a proper lady's maid. Years of hard work were now paying off, and her aunt would no longer have to struggle in supporting two more mouths under her roof (though she gladly would have done so). The income Nora made would feed and clothe her parents, with enough left over for Nora herself. Monsieur Garnier was a very generous employer.

'_And Madame could not be more fun to be with_.' She had not expected her new mistress to be amusing and witty. It was almost as though Nora were spending time with a friend, not her employer's wife, and if it were possible, she'd hoped to address Madame Garnier by her given name: Lisette.

But right now, that would not do at all. Only time would tell how close they would become, and whether or not they could be good friends.

"Just wait and see," Nora muttered, echoing her mother's favorite saying.

For now, that was all she could do. And for now, she was content to do so.

* * *

AN: Please review! Thanks!


	6. Out and About Town

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: More new characters in this chapter, whom I hope will meet with everyone's approval. Please let me know in a review. Thanks!

**Chapter 6: Out and About Town**:

Fanning myself to stave off the heat of the theater, I could feel myself being watched, but paid it no mind. Beside me, Erik looked like a storm cloud, a scowl on his face as we watched the play below. It was Shakespeare, and in spite of the looks we were getting, I was enjoying myself.

After being the center of attention at the opera, both Erik and I agreed that we'd take it slowly when it came to going out in Venice's society. For the next several weeks, we kept to a quiet routine of morning walks and luncheons out in town, with a bit of shopping just before we went home. Erik's masked face attracted some attention, but servants are the best sort of gossipers, and soon all of Venice had word of Erik's "hunting accident." The spread of this tale caused fewer stares and whispers, though it did draw more than enough sympathetic looks.

"At least _sympathetic_ looks are better than judgmental or curious ones," Erik told me once over breakfast. "Although I'm sure I'll get tired of sympathy just as quickly."

Our evenings tended to vary. Most of the time, we would finish dinner, then Erik would head off to work on an art project, and I would head to the library for some light reading. But as the evening wore on, we gravitated together, inevitably ending up in the library, which became a haven for us. In one corner, small piano had been installed, and there Erik would play or compose a new song while I read. It was comforting, knowing that the other person was nearby, and we relished spending the Venetian nights with one another.

Tonight, however, warranted a change. Erik couldn't live without the opera or theater forever, and when Arnold brought word that the theater owners had invited us to a performance, we were both eager to go.

I tried to imagine myself in the eyes of the other patrons, from my dress to my hair. I must look like the aristocrat they believed me to be, clad in a gown of fine blue satin and black lace, with a necklace of elegant sapphires around my neck. My hair had been twisted, curled, pulled up, then decorated with blue and gold enameled combs, all of it Nora's hard work.

Glancing to my right, I smiled at the picture Erik made. He had worn blue tonight as well, to match me. His coat was black, but his vest was a deep blue, as was his cravat. The mask he had donned for the night was his white one, which was striking against his dark outfit.

'_Just when I think he looks his absolute best, he goes a step up_,' I thought, closing my fan with a soft snap. I was one lucky woman.

Of course, I'd no doubt the other women thought so, too. I saw a few ladies casting admiring glances at Erik, wondering about the air of mystery he projected, even if he didn't intend to. It didn't hurt that he was also extremely attractive.

I started when I felt a large warm hand on mine, the fingers slowly stroking and caressing my skin. He was teasing me, so I didn't hesitate to tease back with a few touches of my own. I heard him chuckle softly, and saw the playful glint in his green eyes. He wanted to go immediately home after the performance, but I somehow doubted that the social butterflies would let us escape their nets a second time. Still, it couldn't hurt to try and make a run for it.

'_Nora wouldn't like it, though_.'

My poor maid didn't approve of Erik and me isolating ourselves from the rest of society. Like all maids, she'd heard others talking, and knew that the rest of Venice's society were buzzing over how 'odd' Monsieur and Madame Garnier were.

"It's because you do not go to parties or even to the theater that often," Nora explained to me.

But what parties could we go to? In the near month we'd been in Venice, Erik and I had not received any invitations, nor any visitors to the house. It was puzzling, but perhaps it was because we were complete outsiders with no social connections whatsoever. With no one to introduce us or speak for us in society, Erik and I would have to wing it on our own.

'_Which is fine, since none of us really want to interact with fluff-brained people anyway_,' I thought, containing a sniff of distain. '_Like the managers of the Paris Opera House_.'

And speaking of the Paris Opera House…

I thought back to the letter that currently sat on my dresser at home. It was from my mother, and although part of me wondered at how long it had taken her to write, I suspected that she'd needed a long time to cool her temper. No doubt my marriage to Erik had come as a shock, but to be told that I would not return to Paris (possibly for years to come) was probably traumatic for her.

In the note, Mama lectured me on behaving irrationally and against everything she'd taught me. She also talked about how it might have been her fault for letting me get 'too close' to Erik, and for not being more firm with me when she'd had the chance. The note finished with congratulations that didn't sound very genuine, but thankfully, Mama managed to sound happy about receiving the photo Erik had sent her a couple weeks ago. In it, I wore a white gown and sat with my wedding band showing. Erik stood behind me, his own left hand on my shoulder, displaying his wedding ring.

A firm squeeze of my fingers brought me back to the present. Looking to Erik, I saw the concerned look in his eyes, and gave him a reassuring smile. "I'm fine," I whispered, stroking his fingers. "Watch the play."

He didn't look as though he believed me, but he did as I asked. I joined him in turning my attention back towards the stage, and tried to soak up the story and the atmosphere.

* * *

As the curtain descended and the audience rose to applaud the performers, many of the upper class kept their minds focused on the new arrivals seated in one of the most expensive boxes in the theater. The masked man and his young wife had attracted a great deal of attention, and nearly all of the upper crust wanted to find out about this couple.

Whispers had begun the moment they had moved into the city. Servants had seen Monsieur Garnier escorting his wife through out the marketplace, and had reported back to their masters and mistresses. These ladies of society had then began talk amongst themselves, trading theories as to who this French couple was, where they had come from, and why none of them had heard of them before. Most of the rich knew of who belonged to their class, but Monsieur Garnier was a puzzle that none of them could solve.

Soon after, their servants brought forth another bout of gossip, straight from the Garnier servants no less, speaking of a hunting accident that involved facial damage. Then, the rich and upper class began to piece their puzzle together at last: it was Monsieur Garnier's isolation and separation from the world that caused none of the French aristocrats in Venice to have heard of him.

"What man _wouldn't_ lock himself away after such an event?" some men asked over drinks and cigars. "Not being able to show your face in society is enough to make anyone become a recluse."

The ladies agreed, but with more sympathy. "He seems a handsome man, in spite of his make, but he is a bit cold."

They had no doubt that Monsieur Garnier's accident must have happened long ago, possibly while he was a young man and before he'd been out in the world. The coldness of his demeanor probably stemmed from bitterness at having the delights of society taken away from him, and as time wore on, his cold anger faded to a chill.

"Otherwise, how else could he have married?" the men asked.

"Yes, but he married his _housekeeper_," the ladies remarked in distain.

Her lack of breeding should have made society spurn Madame Garnier, but there was something in the woman's air that made them think that, although she lacked the bloodlines of nobility, Lisette Garnier carried the confidence and air of an aristocrat about her. She wasn't rich or noble in blood, but she had a spirit that had to be admired, or at least acknowledged.

"She's also a rather handsome woman," everyone admitted.

In the few cases that a wealthy man married a penniless girl, the young woman in question almost always had a difficult time adjusting to her rise up in the world. The newly-rich lady often had poor taste in style, knew nothing of fashion, and tended to mix her jewelry, gowns and hair in horrible arrangements.

Lisette Garnier did no such thing. Tonight, she was the image of a fine lady, dressed in a gown of blue covered with black lace. The combs she wore were subtle, but lovely, and shone beautifully against her dark hair. Her necklace of shining sapphires emphasized her graceful neck, and her eyes were merry, telling how she enjoyed the evening's performance.

As they took the tall, stern figure of Monsieur Garnier, the socialites decided it might be best to approach his wife instead. She, at least, looked as though she had a softer side.

* * *

The performance over, Erik was eager to leave before the sharks descended upon us. He wanted nothing to do with Venice's upper class as of yet, and did not wish me to become the center of scrutiny because I wasn't "one of them."

But it wasn't scrutiny I was worried about. Those who were trying to pull us into their circles smiled politely, but I could see no sign of genuineness behind their eyes. They were only reaching for another wealthy woman to claim as a friend or acquaintance, not searching for actual friendship with the person. A few looked as though they wanted to approach and speak with us, but seemed nervous, probably for a good reason.

"Shouldn't we at least try to be polite to them?" I softly asked my husband.

"Not a chance," Erik voiced in my ear, though he didn't bend forward to whisper in it. That ventriloquism hobby of his was quite handy for situations like this.

Unfortunately, I lacked the skill to throw my voice like he did, so I nodded discreetly at him in agreement. "I don't like it either, but if we don't try and be polite, they might run us out of town, and you know you wouldn't like that."

He grumbled something under his breath and scowled. There was an almost menacing air about him now, and that further prevented others from approaching or waving at us. Well, all except one.

It was a woman dressed very finely in copper silk, her face neither young nor old, nor middle-aged. It was one of those faces that would remain the same no matter how old she was, and I rather liked it. Her features were strong, her eyes the color of golden-brown amber and full of kindness. Her hair matched her eyes, and there was a small knowing smile on her mouth, almost as though she always carried a secret, and if you were lucky, she'd share it with you.

"Good evening, Madame and Monsieur," she said in perfect French, though with a slight English tone to it. "I'm Lady Helena Russell, and may I be the first to welcome you to Venice?"

Part of me was instantly suspicious, but a warm voice I recognized whispered in my ear, "Trust her, sweetie." My doubts vanished, and I couldn't help but smile at Lady Russell, a name that almost sent me into giggles. Lady Russell was a character in Jane Austen's novel '_Persuasion_,' and though I hadn't liked the woman in the book, I certainly liked the one standing before me.

I could feel Erik stiffen, his alertness up with the lady's approach, no doubt suspecting her to be someone playing the false friend. Since my hand was tucked in his elbow, I have it a reassuring squeeze, and turned a friendly smile to what could be our newest ally.

"Good evening," I replied. "And thank you for the warm welcome."

"Oh, you're quite welcome," Lady Russell replied with a wave of her hand. "I'm sorry to be so tardy with greeting you, but the other socialites and I had no idea what to make of you." She eyed Erik closely. "And it doesn't help that you have an air of distain for others, Monsieur."

The cool, indifferent look on Erik's face didn't budge. "I have reason to dislike others, my lady," he replied. "I am also not one who cares much for society."

"Oh, call me Helena," she insisted. "Or Helen, if you'd like. But you really must make friends, or how else will you keep yourselves amused?"

I caught a glint of naughtiness and amusement in Erik's eyes. "We can manage."

Helena grinned, a sure sign that she'd caught on to what he was thinking. "I'm sure you could, but if you aren't at least a minor part of society, you'll miss out on all of the balls, masquerades, and other wonderful gatherings that are more than worth giving up some quiet time for."

Beside me, Erik's cool demeanor was beginning to thaw slightly. "Too true. I know that my wife is fond of masquerades, as she has been to several."

"Then I'll make sure to invite you both to mine," Helen declared. "It's in two weeks, so you should both have enough time to find costumes. I will send the invitation tomorrow."

With that, she was gone, leaving us both rather pleasantly surprised.

* * *

As Lady Russell vanished into the throng of theater patrons, Erik blinked in surprise. She'd been rather forward, but he could tell that Lissie liked her.

'_Which is no wonder, of course_,' Erik thought to himself as he escorted Lissie to the front door. '_She's bound to attract women much like herself_.'

A swell of affection for his wife rose in his chest. There may be many bold, good-humored women in the world, but only one dared to face him on a daily basis, and she walked beside him, holding his arm as she smiled at the milling crowd around them. Occasionally, Lissie would nod her head at a man who tipped his hat at her, or a woman who gave a weak smile in her direction, and that seemed to ease the tension in the air a bit. Seeing her deal so easily and well with socialites gave Erik a sense of satisfaction and pride, but what else could he have expected from a girl raised by Antoinette Giry?

By now, they had reached the canal where the gondolas were waiting, and stepped into the first available one. As they pushed off, Erik wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her close so that he could hold her.

* * *

As soon as the Garniers' left, the theater began to buzz with talk. Nearly everyone had heard that the couple could be attending Lady Russell's masquerade, and that had all of the socialites excited. It would give them a chance to become acquainted with the Garniers, and to try and form friendships or connections to the couple.

As the evening wore on, the air was filled with plans and ideas on how to make their goals come true.

* * *

Wincing as Nora removed an enameled comb from my hair, I told her all about what had happened at the theater. While I talked, she occasionally nodded in approval and smiled as she worked.

"You couldn't do much better than befriend someone like Lady Russell," my maid said, pulling another comb from my hair. "She's known for keeping good company, usually with those who have more between the ears than a bit of fluff. She's got no close friends, mind you, but those she associates with are towards the intelligent side, and somewhat clever."

Well, that was good news. I hated people who were idiots, and rich idiots were even worse. I did not want to deal with a bunch of fools who thought the world of themselves while making stupid decisions in life.

"And I think that Monsieur will like that crowd, too," Nora continued, her fingers combing through the complicated mess that was my hair. "No doubt there will be a few who appreciate art, music, and other such things."

"I certainly hope so, or else they will find little in common with him," I said, smiling at her reflection in the mirror.

Nora chuckled. "Well, you've managed alright so far. I've never seen you draw or try any sort of artwork of your own, so you and Monsieur must have something else in common with one another."

"Indeed we do," I said, wincing as she brushed a particularly nasty knot out of my hair. "I've always loved music and dancing, but I'm afraid I'm not very good at the latter. I know all of the steps, however, so it must mean that I simply need to practice."

"Something I am more than happy to assist you with," Erik declared as he came into the room.

I smiled at him. Our new routine at night had been altered dramatically: instead of us undressing separately, with me in our bedroom and Erik in his study, we would undress together in our room. Once he was in casual clothes, Erik would go into his study while Nora undid my hair. Then she would leave us, taking my evening gown away to be brushed out and aired for another night.

"I will assist Madame with her hair now," he told my maid. "Take her gown to be seen to, and then you may have the rest of the night off."

Nora curtseyed and scurried to obey. A minute later, she was gone, and Erik was carefully brushing my hair with _very_ capable fingers. "You're a natural at this," I teased over my shoulder.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "I never told you this before, but I have always admired your hair. When you sat down to brush your hair out at night, it looked so soft, I longed to comb my fingers through it."

"You watched me brush my hair?" I asked, though I really shouldn't have been surprised. "I can assure you, it's a very dull task."

"Never," he said while finishing up. "It's soothing. I should do this every night before we go to bed."

"Not if you're upset, you won't," I retorted, taking the brush he handed me. "The last thing I need is to have clumps of hair missing just because you've had a bad day."

Erik merely chuckled and helped me from my chair. "I wouldn't dream of harming a hair on your divine head," he assured me.

"Hardly divine," I replied, standing on tiptoe to kiss him.

"Hmm, angelic, then," he whispered, his lips hovering just above mine. "And right now, my most beautiful angel, it's time for bed."

* * *

AN: Next chapter will be a masquerade ball, and there Erik and Lissie will make a new friend. Please be kind and review! Thanks so much!


	7. An Interesting Ball

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: This chapter's _slightly_ longer than usual, but I think everyone will be happy about that. There's another new character, and I hope you like him as much as I do. Please enjoy, and review! Thanks!

**Chapter 7: An Interesting Ball:**

Flipping open my fan, I tried to keep a cool head as Erik and I entered through Lady Russell's front door.

"At least they aren't announcing the guests as they enter," he whispered, taking my hand to lead me towards the ballroom.

I bit back a smile and squeezed his arm in reassurance. Tonight, I considered myself lucky that we'd come to the masquerade at all.

* * *

Two weeks wasn't nearly enough time to find a costume for a masquerade. Sure, most people might have been able to do it, but not me, and _not_ in two weeks.

Of course, my mindset was on my life at the Populaire, and not in Venice, where there were many costume shops because the upper class hosted masquerades at least once a month.

Back at the Populaire, it had taken me days to think of a good costume based on whatever fabric I had at the time (usually courtesy of Erik), and another few months measuring, cutting, sewing, trimming, and decorating the outfit. The only easy part was finding a mask.

This time, I was able to actually _buy_ a beautiful outfit without fear of going broke. The problem was that I had no idea what I wanted to dress up as, which made things even more difficult. It didn't help that the shops were crammed full of gorgeous outfits, and when Nora and I went out shopping for a costume, it was impossible to choose. I would have bought out the entire store if I could, but my rational side held back, reminding me that I was invited to only _one_ masquerade, and that I need to buy things accordingly. Thus, I always left the store empty-handed, wondering what would happen if I bought something at one place, then found something I liked even more at another shop.

Obviously, my frugalness didn't sit well with Erik, but then, masquerades were easy for men –_they_ just had to dress up in a tuxedo and a fancy mask. We women had to be far more elaborate and stunning, and unique from everyone else at the party. Erik didn't see it this way, and after a whole week of watching me come home empty-handed, he decided to take me shopping himself, rather than have Nora do it.

His reason for this was simple: "Because you are her employer, she will only agree with you and do as you say. I, however, will be brutally honest."

As usual, my husband was right. At the very first shop we went to, I walked out with my costume purchased and guaranteed to be delivered to the house that afternoon for a fitting. When the outfit was delivered, Nora was there to help the seamstress, and the two of them had my gown perfectly fitted in no time. That was good, because it took the rest of the next week to find the perfect mask, shoes, hair accessories, and other odds-and-ends.

At last, the day of the masquerade arrived, and it was time to make ourselves relatively known.

* * *

"You're hair is lovely tonight, though I'm not sure it was worth the trouble," Erik muttered as we took a pair of seats by an open window.

Nora had spent hours perfecting not only my gown, but also my hair. After much brushing, curling, decorating, pinning, and touching up, I might _look_ fabulous, but my scalp felt like it was on fire. Hopefully, the pain would fade, but in the meantime, I was looking for the waiter carrying the tray of champagne in the hopes of dulling the ache in my scalp.

Looking down at my costume, I had to admit, it looked pretty good, though a bit too elaborate for me. The bodice was made of black velvet trimmed in gold vines and leaves, and the skirt consisted of nine layers of taffeta ruffles, with the pattern of black, white, and gold repeating themselves three times. The white taffeta had shining gold stars sewn to it, as did my bodice. My arms had black silk gloves stretching up to my elbows, and a necklace of black onyx set in gold wrapped around my neck. My hair had a bevy of ribbons to match the taffeta of my skirts, and a black mask sat daintily on my face.

Erik, as always, looked marvelous in his tuxedo. I had secretly been wishing that he'd go as the Red Death, but sadly, that was not to be. Tonight, it was a tuxedo and his black mask, though tonight it covered most of his face, instead of half of it. It was also trimmed in gold, so that it matched my dress.

"It also tells others that we are together," Erik had explained as we left the house. "I refuse to let a suave Italian sweep you away from me."

I assured him that there was no way that would happen. "Unless," I teased, "the fool tried to kidnap me." Erik had to blush at that.

As expected, Erik and I fit right into the swirling mass of masqueraders. I liked to believe that no one knew who we were, but it was possible more than a few suspected –after all, Erik and I were the new ones in town, and it was likely that in spite of the masks we wore, anyone could pick us out of the crowd.

"Ah, there you are," said a female voice.

I looked over my shoulder and spotted a woman in a beautiful red dress, her golden-brown hair pulled up and woven with red ribbons. A red-and-gold mask was over her face, but those amber eyes were unmistakable.

"Lady Russell!" I exclaimed happily as she took my hands in hers. "You look beautiful."

"As do you, my dear," she said while pressing a warm kiss to each of my cheeks. "And call me Helena."

"Only if you call me Lissie," I told her.

She grinned and nodded. "My, your husband is most dashing this evening. No doubt many of the women here are turning green with envy under their masks!"

Erik snorted his disbelief.

Helena smiled and waved his doubts aside. "Scars or no scars, you are still a very attractive man, Monsieur Garnier, whether you believe it or not. And you can be sure that the women here, both married and not, find you a very handsome prize indeed. Your wife is a lucky woman."

"I doubt that, my lady," Erik solemnly replied.

She laughed. "My husband would disagree with you, sir. Believe me, Arthur can spot a good marriage anywhere, and he would say that you are both fortunate to have each other."

I looked at my friend in surprise. "You're married?" She hadn't said anything about it before.

Helena nodded. "Arthur should be here somewhere…oh, there you are!"

A round, but cheerful-looking fellow made his way through the crowd to stand by Helena's side. He wasn't wearing a mask, but he was somehow able to look dignified and stylish, despite his rotund stature and balding head. Honestly, he didn't look like an English lord. In fact, he stood as tall as me, making him several inches shorter than his wife.

"Yes, here I am, dearest." Arthur Russell took Erik's hand and shook it. "I don't know why I bother with masquerades, since I never wear a mask, but Helen loves them."

My friend laughed. "Arthur always says that anyone could point him out in a crowd, so he never bothers with the mask. But don't let him fool you; he loves a masquerade ball, or any gathering, as much as I do."

Erik and I chuckled as Arthur took his wife's hand and kissed it. I thought it was sweet seeing this couple together. They were complete opposites: Helen being thin, graceful and elegant while Arthur was short, round, and merry.

'_Just goes to show you that opposites attract_,' I thought, glancing up in Erik's direction. He smiled and clasped my hand in his, probably thinking the same thing.

"Ah, a waltz!" Arthur exclaimed as the lead-in music began. He looked at Helena. "Shall we?"

"Indeed," Erik stated, giving me a pointed look. "Shall we, my angel?"

Giving him a flirtatious look, I let him escort me onto the dance floor.

* * *

Erik had spent many years watching Lissie attend the Paris Opera House masquerades, and each of those times, he had watched her dance with men who were not him. Mostly, she had been a 'wallflower,' as women called it, but on occasion, a gentleman would ask her to dance, and Erik had watched as enjoy herself with her partner. Tonight, Erik was that partner.

Leading her across the dance floor, he came to the sudden realization that this was their first dance as husband and wife. The elation that followed this surprising thought was followed by guilt, for he had not been able to provide his beloved with a wedding that involved a beautiful reception, one that included not only music and dancing, but also her mother and sisters.

Focusing on the music and keeping in step, Erik pushed aside his negative thoughts and focused on the positive ones –which wasn't hard, considering the happy, loving smile Lissie was giving him. She loved dancing, and from now on, he was to be her partner in _all_ dances.

'_I will never let another man touch her_,' he thought, determination flowing through his veins.

"Oh, dear, I know that face," she whispered as he pulled her close. "It's the one you wear whenever you're set on doing something, or when you're set on getting your own way."

Erik nearly laughed. "And how would you know that, when my face is covered? Can you see through solid objects?"

Lissie chuckled softly as she glided across the floor in his arms. "No, I just know you that well. So tell me: what's on your mind, Monsieur?"

He smiled fondly at her. "I was thinking of what I would do to any man who dared lay a hand on my beloved wife."

To his surprise, she gave him a playful look and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "And who might this beloved wife be, good sir? Would you be kind enough to point her out to me in this crowd of masked faces?"

Good lord, she was toying with him! When had that become part of her personality? Not that he minded it, of course; he knew that his delightful wife could more than keep him amused and on his toes.

Instead of replying to her prodding, Erik pulled her even closer and grinned as she laughed up at him. "Touché, Monsieur," she acknowledged.

They finished the dance with a flourish, and immediately went to the refreshment table. A server offered them wine, but Lissie declined it in favor of lemonade. Erik helped himself to a glass of lemonade as well, and a few choice tidbits that were being offered by passing waiters.

As he ate and drank, Erik could feel eyes on him. Not hostile, merely curious, and he knew that many wanted to approach him, but dared not. Perhaps it was fear, or the uncertainty of where he and Lissie "fit" into their social hierarchy. After all, no one knew how wealthy he was, nor what his bloodlines were, so they didn't know where to categorize him.

"Goodness, what a crush," Lissie muttered as someone jostled her elbow.

"Well, the grand entryway and staircase at the Populaire _is_ bigger than this entire ballroom," Erik pointed out to her as he pulled her back against a wall, moving her out of the way.

"Hmm, that's true," she conceded. "Do you think Helena will mind if we left early? I hate getting overheated in a crowd, and all of these candles aren't helping much."

It was, of course, at that moment that Arthur Russell approached, his smiling wife on his arm. "Well, there the two of you are! I've been meaning to ask you something, Monsieur, if you don't mind?" Erik nodded his assent. "Well, I've noticed that a good many art supplies have been delivered to your home. Are you an artist by chance?"

"He is," Lissie answered, a touch of pride in her voice. "My husband is skilled in many forms of art, from painting and drawing, to sculpture and architectural design. He's very talented."

Arthur seemed to perk up at that. "Architectural design, you say? Are you any good? Have you designed anything for anyone?"

Erik shook his head. "I am afraid it is merely a hobby, though I admit I am more than decent at it. My calculations are rarely wrong, if that answers your question."

Helena sighed in what could only be described as relief. "Well, this is lucky. Arthur and I have just purchased a house outside of Rome, but we very much want to redesign the entire place. The problem is we can't seem to find _any_one willing to do the hard work of designing a home from the ground up."

"It truly doesn't help that we want something new, but which also incorporates the old Italian styles," Arthur explained. "You know, mix things up a bit, but still keeping it tasteful and fashionable."

From the corner of his eye, Erik noted that several party attendants seemed interested in their conversation. Why, he didn't know, but he had a feeling that he would probably find out soon. For now, he'd ignore them in favor of Arthur and Helen.

"I might be able to help you," he said, startling both himself and Lissie. Why he offered them his help, he didn't know, but it seemed the right thing to do. "If you will come by my house tomorrow, you may inform me of what it is you wish to do to this house, and how you would like your rooms to look, as well as how to structure it."

"Wonderful!" Arthur exclaimed, clapping his hands. "Why don't we come over after luncheon? Helena can keep your charming Lissie occupied while you and I talk business."

Lady Russell looked slightly exasperated. "You had better only talk about the basic structures of that house. If I find out that you've decided on what the walls should be painted or decorated with, I shall be more than angry with you."

Her husband held up his hands in surrender. "I promise you, I won't speak a word about decorating unless you are with me."

"Smart man," Lissie teased, a smile on her lips.

All four of them chuckled and continued to talk, but only for a few minutes longer. Erik knew that, as the hosts of the ball, both Lord and Lady Russell had to mingle with their guests, or it would seem as though they were neglecting their duties. Once their hosts had moved on, Erik squeezed his wife's arm and whispered a request to dance, which she gladly accepted.

Over an hour later, after numerous dances and frequent stops for refreshments, Lissie asked if it was alright to leave. By then, the room was stifling, and Erik was more than ready to go home. He wanted a good meal, some chilled wine, and his wife to share it with him.

* * *

I was never so happy to leave a masquerade in all my life. Venice was muggier and warmer than Paris, and since the Populaire had its masquerade in winter, I tended not to overheat after dancing. Tonight, clad in a layered dress and stuck in an overly-crowded ballroom, I was ecstatic to leave after a mere two hours. Erik was just as thrilled to go; he looked as hot and cranky as I felt.

At home, Nora waited until after Erik and I had changed into our nightclothes before coming to help take down my hair. Since it had been so elaborately done, it took longer than usual, but finally, the last ribbon and pins were out, and so was Nora, my costume over her arm as she left.

"Finally!" he exclaimed, pulling me out of my vanity seat to hold me close. "Now, my dear Madame, would you care for a light meal before we retire? I've asked Deborah to bring up something."

I smiled up at him. "You're a mind reader. I'm famished. The stuff they serve at balls never seem to fill you up."

Then Deborah showed off her impeccable timing by appearing at that moment with our food. Erik rolled his eyes as our cook and housekeeper delivered a flurry of knocks and loudly announced that she had our meal.

"Why she is still delivering our food is beyond my reasoning," he muttered as he went to let her in. "We've an army of servants to do that."

Deborah didn't stay long, merely leaving the tray on a table before vanishing downstairs again. I laughed at the exasperated look on my husband's face as he carried the tray over to our bed, where I quickly joined him.

"I think she likes cooking," I said, helping myself to some marinated artichoke hearts. "If or when we start hosting parties, we'll have to find a cook who can handle the fancier foods, but I think Deborah likes being in the kitchen, and I wouldn't deprive her of that for the world."

Erik merely grunted and popped a crab-stuffed mushroom into his mouth. For a while, we ate in silence, savoring the coolness of our room and the quiet of the evening. When the tray was empty, Erik placed it outside our door, but returned with a small plate of chocolates.

"I'm getting spoiled," I told him as he offered them to me.

Erik smiled and removed his mask, setting it on his nightstand before indulging in dessert with me. "I like spoiling you. It's what good husbands do."

The sweets were gone in minutes, and after we'd washed up, Erik and I tucked ourselves into bed. Under the warm covers, Erik put his arms around me and carefully arranged us so that my head was tucked comfortably under his chin, and my left hand rested lightly on his chest.

"I'm glad we made friends with Lord and Lady Russell," I whispered to him.

"Hmm, yes, it will be nice to have people to talk with and go out at night with," Erik muttered softly, his hand combing through my hair.

I smiled. "Actually, I was glad that you'll be putting your hobbies and skills to good use. You hate being idle; that's why you spend your afternoons in your study and art room. It'll be good for you to meet with people and create things that others can see and appreciate."

He was thinking quietly, I could tell. I knew that he didn't want his work seen by anyone, which was why it surprised me that he'd offered his services to Arthur and Helena in the first place. But it would be good for him to do works for others, and to have them appreciate his efforts –I didn't like the idea of Erik crowding his finished projects into some obscure corners of the villa.

Yawning, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, allowing Erik time to figure things out himself.

* * *

Erik didn't know why he had offered to help Lord and Lady Russell with their house in Rome, but it had seemed like the right thing to do. They needed help, he had the skills they needed, and he was willing to be brutally honest with them in regards to their choices in décor and architectural structure.

'_Perhaps I am getting soft_,' he thought, glaring at the ceiling.

'_Or perhaps Lissie is becoming a good influence on you_,' whispered another part of his mind.

He smiled fondly at the form of his sleeping wife. Yes, she was good for him, he knew that. His angel was both kind and determined, and a mixture of patience and impatience that sometimes sent his mind whirling. Women were supposed to be a puzzle for men, but Lissie seemed far more complicated than most, which was marvelous. He hated things that were too easy to figure out.

Yawning, Erik closed his eyes and heaved a happy sigh. No one could be as lucky as he was.

* * *

AN: I hope everyone likes Arthur and Helena Russell. I figured Lissie and Erik needed some friends out in the world, and plugged them in there. Hope you all enjoyed yourselves, and will review. Thanks!


	8. Friendships Forged

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: I'm sorry to say that, ever since _**Alice in Wonderland**_ came out, I've lost interest in this story. My mind and creativity have officially been diverted to a story in the _**Alice**_ category. To put it bluntly: my brain is in full "Alice" mode, and it's likely to stay there for a while. As a result, this story is going to be put on hold, or even deleted all together. I might just put an epilogue on _**A Twist of Destiny**_ and get rid of this fic all together. For updates on this, please see my bio page.

In the meantime, please enjoy this chapter, and review if you'd like. Thanks.

**Chapter 8: Friendships Forged**:

It turned out that being friends with Arthur and Helena Russell was the best thing to happen to Erik, as well as myself, because it gave us other people to talk to and spend time with. Not that I'd ever admit to being tired of Erik's company, but sometimes a woman needs another female to chat with, for her sanity's sake.

* * *

The day they first came to see us, I escorted Helena to the downstairs parlor while Erik took Arthur up to his study. Tea was served, and we chatted of nothing in particular for about half an hour. After that, several awkward moments passed before Helena sighed, put down her tea cup, and looked me right in the eye.

"Dear, there's no reason for things to be uncomfortable between us," she boldly stated. "Let me start out with the facts: I know you are new to the privileged classes, and that you probably have no idea what to do with yourself. So, allow me to open a few doors for you."

I'd listened with rapt attention as Helen explained the many different things I could now do with myself. With her help, I would slowly be introduced to her social circle, which included the more intelligent members of society, ranging from opera lovers to scholars of the arts and history.

"But first, we must go shopping," Helen declared as we finished tea and went to join the men upstairs. "You need to shop with someone who knows the latest fashions, and although I'm sure your maid does a good job in helping you with that, you need someone who will give their honest opinion instead of passively agreeing with whatever colors or styles you pick out."

I blushed, both in anger and resentment. Nora had been very helpful in picking out dress materials and such, and I didn't like hearing anything said against her. In a way, Helen was right; maids often teetered between being brutally honest with their mistresses, or flattering them in order to keep their positions. A maid had to know when to keep their mouth shut for fear of angering their employer. However, Nora needn't fear that from me –I valued her opinion, which she was free and more than happy to give.

"Although my maid is quite capable of assisting me when it comes to finding gowns, I would like to go garment shopping with you," I diplomatically told my new friend.

Helen seemed to sense that she'd upset me, because she flinched. "Oh, dear, I've gone and assumed you were like the other fluff-headed women of the aristocracy. You probably like your maid and think of her as more than just a servant, just like Arthur and I do with ours. I'm sorry, Lisette, can you forgive me?"

She seemed sincere, but I was cautious in accepting her apology. I forgave her, and changed the topic back to shopping, which Helen agreed to help me with the following day.

My opinion of her grew more positive as we joined Arthur and Erik in the study, where they were going over the plans for the Russell's' new house. The men were both hunched over the drawings and talking back and forth, so focused that they didn't even notice our entrance.

"Oh, really," Helen muttered.

Walking over to the table in a huff, she planted herself opposite her husband and leaned forward, listening to what both men were talking over. I watched in amusement as she listened, nodded a few time, then spoke out.

"Arthur, you will do no such thing," she loudly declared, finally getting both men's attention. "I will not have naked, or nearly naked women painted on any of our walls, and certainly not in the dining room! Have you any idea what a scandal that would cause? If you don't choose a more appropriate design, then I will have the painters coat the walls in a somber shade of brown and be done with it."

"Yes, dear," Arthur sighed, looking properly chastised. "Though I'd hoped to at least have a _few_ nymphs or goddesses painted on the walls. Perhaps in one of our private libraries, where no guests go?"

Helen rolled her eyes. "Arthur, darling, guests go _everywhere_, particularly into places you tell them are 'private.' You can be sure of _that_. However, I'm sure we can decide on _something_ we both like. What have you both talked of so far?"

Both Erik and I exchanged amused glances as our friends talked and argued over the interior of their house. The show went on for about half an hour, and after Helen had agreed to _not_ paint the drawing room pink, I asked them both to join us for dinner.

Their acceptance was one of the few things they'd agreed on the entire day.

* * *

Dinner proved to be beyond entertaining, with Arthur and Helena providing the funniest stories I'd ever heard, some of which included stuck up aristocrats making fools of themselves in public, like two countesses getting into a near fist-fight because of a single misplaced fan.

"One woman thought the other had stolen it, when it turned out the hostess's cat had snatched it and dragged it up a tree," Helen said, shaking her head. "Which is still very amusing, when you think about it."

And Arthur was more than happy to tell stories about their home in England, which he had left in the care of young Arthur Russell, their son. "Artie, we call him," Arthur explained. "Barely twenty, and far too sober and smart for his age. Helen is hoping that he'll marry a girl with a sense of humor to soften his shell a bit."

My friend rolled her eyes and sighed. "Artie is a brilliant boy, and has been since he was small. We did send him to Cambridge, like his father went to, but I think he's learned far more useful skills at home from our steward than he ever did at a fancy school. Lord knows Artie's putting those skills to work, and he's doing it splendidly." A sparkle in Helen's eyes spoke of her pride in her son. "Though I do wish he'd marry a cheerful girl with a sense of humor. He does need a spark in his life."

When dinner finished, we retired to the library, where Erik and Arthur immediately began browsing the shelves together, comparing authors and discussing topics that made me almost yawn in boredom. Helen winked at me and pulled me towards the fire, where she poured a glass of sweet cherry cordial for each of us.

"I hope I'm forgiven my uncalled for words in regards to your maid," she said, sipping her drink. "I, too, am fond of my maid, Phoebe, and will hear no one speak badly of her, so I understand how I must have upset you."

I nodded. "I am fond of Nora. She's a dear girl, and she's been invaluable to me since I've hired her."

Helen nodded. "I felt the same way about Phoebe, and in fact, I still feel that way about her. Perhaps we should introduce them; it would be good for them to have another maid to talk to. We can bring them along on our shopping trip, and see how they get along. What do you think?"

"That sounds wonderful," I said cheerfully. "Would tomorrow morning do? Then we can have lunch together afterwards."

"Agreed," Helen declared. We then clanked glasses and drank down the cordial.

* * *

As it turns out, shopping with Helen was officially _not_ a good thing for my good economic sense. First, she was used to spending a fortune on all sorts of things, which I wasn't. Second, she tended to buy things she didn't need, which Mama had always frowned upon, a trait she had passed on to me.

Erik had warned me about this, and before Helen arrived to 'pick me up,' he had given me a small allowance to spend. Of course, this 'allowance' was more than I'd have spent in a month back in Paris, so I was having a hard time breaking all of the frugal habits I'd learned growing up. This was evident by the mountain of boxes being sent back to the Russell home while Nora walked behind me, a basket over her arm and five small boxes tucked inside it, underneath a protective cloth.

Helena seemed surprised at my thriftiness, and it took her a while to remember that I'd come from a more humble background than she and Arthur did. While she'd bought boxes full of dresses, ribbons, hats, shoes, and stockings, I'd been more selective and careful with my money, coming away with three new sets of stockings, some elegant lace ribbons, and some handkerchiefs for Erik.

As we made our way to lunch, with Nora and Phoebe (Helen's maid) trailing behind us, Helen linked arms with me, and proceeded to gently chastise my spending habits.

"Lissie," she said, "If you are going to fit into society, you must learn to spend your money like us. I'm sure there are many things you would like, and now that you've the means to do so, you are free to buy up as many dresses, hats, and ribbons as you please."

The thing was, I had no use for new dresses. Ball gowns and evening dresses for parties, yes, I could certainly use those, but why have three closets full of dresses, one for every day of the week? Back in the 21st century, I was content with jeans (Lord, did I miss having jeans!), and whatever shirt I pulled out of my closet. Here in this lifetime, I was happy with a simple walking dress and hat, and I did _not_ need to wear a different dress every single day. Of course, I couldn't tell Helen that.

After lunch, Helena took me to the one place where I would happily spend a fortune: a bookshop. There, I pretty much emptied half my wallet, and I was rewarded with two free books by the owner because I'd bought so much. It took three strong young men to deliver my purchases to the house.

The final thing I bought was a very expensive writing set crafted from silver. Everything in the set, from the inkwell to the pen holders, was finely crafted, and the elaborate designs made me think of Erik. I immediately knew it would be my gift to him.

Satisfied that I'd managed to empty the purse that Erik had given me, Helena declared our shopping trip a success as she dropped me off back home. Nora and Phoebe exchanged farewells, and after seeing my friend off, I went upstairs and almost collapsed onto my bed, tired out of my wits.

"Oh, Madame, don't do that!" Nora groaned as she began unpacking the purchases she carried. "It'll take me ages to iron the wrinkles out of your dress!"

We heard a male chuckle from the doorway, and I quickly got off the bed to greet my husband, who caught me up in a swift kiss. "You do look exhausted, Lissie," Erik remarked, his face full of concern. "You did not buy too much, I hope." He looked over at Nora, who shook her head.

"Nothing more than a few stockings and lace ribbons, sir," she replied. "And a few handkerchiefs for you, as well as a few dozen books."

"Hmm, yes, that would explain why three lads brought half a library to the front door not long ago," Erik said, giving me a significant look. "Be careful not to buy every text in Venice, my dear. We only have so much room in the library."

"We could always convert a room into another library," I teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Indeed," he muttered with a grin. "Now, I'm off to finish the plans Arthur dictated to me this morning. I will see you at dinner. Meanwhile, I want you to rest. You look drained."

"You are a fortunate woman, Madame," Nora said, once Erik had left. "Not many men are so affectionate with their wives, though Lord Russell is an exception."

"True enough," I replied as she came to smooth out the crinkles in my skirts. "So, what shall we do now? Dinner isn't for hours yet, and I don't want to nap now."

We ended up in the downstairs library, seated by a cheerful fire as I read aloud to Nora, who sat at my feet, sewing my ribbons into cloth flowers to pin to my hats. She hadn't been read to since she was a child, and since I had experience in reading aloud to my sisters, I didn't mind doing it. Besides, it was a good book.

Dinner came and went, with Erik talking non-stop about his project for Arthur Russell. I understood none of it, but I was happy to see him so excited about something. Finally, people were going to appreciate his art and hard work!

As we settled into bed, me with Erik's strong arms around me, I knew that both of us were beginning to find real happiness and success in life.

* * *

Things seemed to take an even bigger swing upwards as our association with Arthur and Helena Russell deepened. Over the next few months, I was invited over to Helen's for teas, card parties, and other small gatherings several times a week, and met so many rich and aristocratic people that I couldn't remember half of their names. Luckily, those I couldn't remember were faint acquaintances of Helen, so I rarely saw them more than twice a month.

On the other hand, I met several noblewomen who were at least tolerable to be around, so I was fine with hanging out with them, at least for a few hours. With Helena to intervene if I became too annoyed with her guests, I usually ended up having a good time.

And I wasn't the only one making social acquaintances. Erik was doing a fairly good job of it himself, though he still tended to lean towards solitude and not socializing. Still, there was a lot of improving going on. With Arthur for a friend, Erik was practically dragged out of the shadows and thrust into the light. Arthur made sure to invite the two of us to the opera, the theater, and every party that he and Helen threw at their home. The Russell's also made sure to talk with us several times at these gatherings, and when people saw how talkative Erik and I were, they made sure to approach us.

And that was how Erik unintentionally started an architectural and interior design business inside his home office.

* * *

Erik stared at the plans lying on his desk and groaned. Honestly, he didn't know whether to thank Arthur for his patronage and friendship, or curse him.

"I knew social interaction was the wrong idea," he muttered, pushing a set of plans aside and rolling out a fresh sheet of paper.

Society was well and good for most folk, but for him and Lissie, Erik knew it wasn't really for them. Both he and his wife craved books, intelligent conversation, and people who didn't have fluff residing inside their heads. Unfortunately, most of those he met could not be described as 'clever,' though there were a few exceptions.

Thought months of going to parties, balls, theater outings and the opera, Erik and Lissie had been introduced to various rungs of the social ladder, most of whom were friends or business partners of the Russell's. And it was during a few of these gatherings that folks began asking Erik to help redesign the interiors of their homes.

Gossip had spread about the wealthy masked Frenchman and his charming wife, and many had made various inquiries about Monsieur and Madame Garnier. And since Arthur and Helena were more than thrilled with the designs Erik had made for them, the Russell's became founts of information, freely praising Erik's skills to anyone who asked about him.

Before he knew it, Erik's hobbies of architecture and design were out in the open, and now everyone wanted to hire him to remodel or decorate their summer homes, most of which were in other countries! They asked him to travel to these houses, but Erik refused to leave Lissie, so there was no way he was going to accept their employment offers, which he was surprised they'd made.

'_Normally they'd just demand it as a 'favor' of sorts_,' he thought, sketching a few lines. '_I remake a house for them, and they'd owe me a very large favor, or many small ones_.'

The fact that the nobility and rich were willing to pay him for his efforts spoke volumes, both good and bad. It was good that they thought him talented enough to pay him, but on the other hand, it also meant that they likely saw him as nothing more than hired help. He might be as rich as them, but they probably did not see him as "one of them."

'_If it weren't for Lissie, we wouldn't be nearly so accepted in society_.'

He felt a swell of pride at that thought. His wife seemed to have a natural charm and knack when it came to dealing with the upper class, and the women were muttering both faint and strong praises about young Madame Garnier. The snobbier women thought Lissie to be relatively tolerable company, for a commoner, but even they had to admit that Lissie handled herself well in all social events.

'_She's polite to even the rudest noble, she knows how to chat with others and keep them amused, and she is patient with the most foolish women in the aristocracy_.'

Erik grinned. Well, she was patient, for the most part, but even Lissie's patience and tolerance for the idiotic had limits. Helena was doing a marvelous job in helping Lissie build up that patience, and often helped head off any outbursts that might embarrass anyone. Helen truly was an invaluable friend in that regard.

Again, he tossed aside the large sheet of paper, and groaned. '_I wish I could be as patient with those damned people. I've no stomach for foolish men and women with no sense of taste when it comes to decorating_.'

Perhaps it had been a mistake in coming to Venice. It might have been better to purchase a house in the French or English countryside and settle down there, where there was no one they had to interact with, and no city bustling full of interfering people. He would have liked that just fine.

But would Lissie? She had grown up rather sheltered from most of the Populaire's workers, but she'd always had friends amongst the dancers and chorus girls. She was used to people, to talking with them, laughing with them, and even dancing with them at the yearly masquerade. Lissie needed people to talk with, even if her friends numbered by a handful.

'_I know I promised us a new life and a new beginning_,' he thought, heart heavy with guilt. '_But perhaps I was wrong about that_.'

Going from an outcast to a much sought-after architect and designer was hard on his nerves. He knew that diving head-first into society was a foolish thing to do, and he'd intended to do it slowly. But with their friendship with the Russell's, he had though it would be easier to adjust to rush in. Now he was having regrets, and he desperately wished he could do this all over again.

"Erik?" an angelic voice called to him.

He looked up at the welcoming form of his wife. He had to admit, he was surprised that she was still home. It was late afternoon, and by now, she should have been having tea somewhere, or out shopping with Helena. Not that he resented her keeping busy –after all, it gave him time to himself, and a quiet atmosphere to work. But he missed her being in the house; it was as though the light went out of the villa whenever she left.

Right now, she was standing by his desk, smiling at him, and in her hands was a tray covered in food. "Deborah said you missed lunch today, so I thought I'd bring it up to you," Lissie said, setting the tray on his desk. "You know better than to miss meals."

Well, to hell with his work! If his wife was home, he was going to take advantage of the situation. "I will happily eat, if you'll join me."

"Only if you'll tell me what you're working on. You seem troubled."

Now, Erik knew she would not understand a word he said about architecture, but he needed to complain to someone, and Lissie was willing to hear him out, so why not? He blurted out his frustration to her, explaining that, given the layout and structure of the place, what this particular Count wanted for his summer home was impossible.

Lissie listened until he finished, then came and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You ask too much of yourself. If you could do something about it, then you would. But you can't, not if the structure of the house won't let you. Tell the Count that if he must have it in the design he wants, then he needs to tear it down and rebuild –or, to make it easier, he might as well find an empty plot of land and build a brand new house. Don't all nobles want to build new houses on some empty place?"

Erik felt incredibly silly at that point. He had thought of tearing the place down, but to build an entirely new house someplace else? _That,_ he had missed.

"I love you," he said, looking her in the eye.

She kissed him softly. "Yes, dear, I know. Now, finish your meal and come downstairs. You haven't played the piano for me in ages, and I miss it." She then vanished out the door, leaving him to eat.

Obediently, Erik wolfed down his lunch and almost ran downstairs, eager to please his most adorable wife.

* * *

AN: Yes, a very dull chapter, but this was all my poor brain could pull off. I'm sorry, but I really think this story is beginning to run dry, and it might be time to pull the plug on it. I might take it down within the next few weeks, and likely _won't_ be updating again before that. An epilogue to _A Twist of Destiny_ will probably be posted after this story comes down, so at least everyone will know how the story of Erik and Lissie ended.

Thanks so much to everyone who has read this story; your support has been much appreciated.


	9. Surprise Visit

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Okay, after much thought (and a lot of friendly advice from some of my friends), I've decided to continue and finish this story. I haven't taken down a story of mine yet, and I'm not going to start now. Thus, this story will be finished, sooner or later. My thanks to everyone for their support.

Also, I will not be updating next week because I'll be on vacation, but I promise to update the week following. Thanks, and enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter 9: Surprise Visit**:

Thanks to Helen, my days began to get fuller and busier. Between her tea parties, card parties, and shopping outings, I was able to keep myself amused, but not to the point of exhaustion. I even began to do what Helen called "charity work," which was basically a group of rich women sitting in a room sewing shirts for the poor. It didn't seem like much, but no one else had to know that I gave away money to the local churches, so that the poor could also be sheltered and fed. I even gave to the beggars on the corners, though in a more discreet manner.

Since Erik decided to stay in his office and work on his architectural plans, he and I spent our nights together. It didn't matter if we went to the opera or stayed at home with a good book; we were happy just to be near one another.

For over two months we lived this way, and both of us hoped it would last for years to come. Of course, that was when we got an unexpected visitor turning up on our doorstep.

* * *

I looked up from the book in my hands to see Nora standing there, a surprised, amused, and somewhat disturbed look on her face. "Goodness, Nora, what's the matter? Monsieur is not in a foul mood again, is he?"

Woe betide anyone who came across Erik in a bad mood! That had been happening a lot lately, since a number of aristocrats had asked him to design (or redesign) their homes for them. Many had given requests or demands that were utterly impossible to follow, and that made Erik angry. Sometimes, Erik could work something out (he _was_ a genius, after all), but in most cases, he couldn't, and that made for him being in a very bad mood. At this point, the servants had long learned to stay out of the way, and wait for me to try and calm him down before approaching.

But Nora shook her head. "No, Madame, it's not that. There is a woman waiting for you downstairs, claiming to be your mother."

The book slipped through my hands as I stared at my maid in shock. My mother, here, right at this moment? She'd never written to us about visiting! What was she _doing_ here?

"Oh, Lord, Nora, do I look alright?" I asked, leaping from my chair in a panic.

She quickly touched up my hair, brushed the skirt of my blue morning gown, and gave me a quick hug to comfort me before leading the way downstairs. I was taken to the main hallway, where my mother stood, eyeing the whole place with a mixture of awe and scrutiny.

"Mama!" I cried, rushing up to her.

She caught me in a tight hug and practically squeezed the life out of me. "Oh, Lissie! You must _never_ do that to me again!"

As we hugged, several servants came and carried her things away to one of the guest rooms. Arnold waited until Mama pulled away before coming up to take her travel cloak, gloves, and hat. My mother looked surprised at the thriftiness, but said nothing as I ushered her to the bright downstairs parlor and ordered tea for us both.

After I'd poured for the two of us, and we'd sipped down our first cups of the beverage, I braced myself for the lecture that was surely brewing in my mother's head. She had that look in her eye, the one that always came before a scolding, so I put some steel into my backbone, and readied myself.

"Lisette Giry, what on _earth_ were you thinking?" Mama snapped, glaring at me as she set down her cup. "Not that I blame you entirely, but for you to wait so long to write me is almost unforgiveable. And to be married away from me and your sisters! Goodness, Lisette, I thought I had raised you better than that."

"And so you did," remarked a calm voice from the doorway.

We both turned to see Erik standing there, a stony look on his face as he came inside and shut the door behind him. He had apparently been dragged away from his art, as his hands, white shirt and black slacks were splattered with paint and bits of clay. Even his white mask has flicks of paint on it, a sign of his love for his work.

Mother glared at him. "And shame on _you_, Erik! I thought we were friends. I trusted you with my eldest daughter, let her work for you in your home, and you steal her away from me in the dead of night! How could you do it?"

He sighed and took a seat near my feet on a footstool by the fireplace, so that he did not dirty the fine materials of the cushions. "Forgive me, Antoinette, but I could think of no other way of gaining Lissie's affections. Stealing her was all I could come up with at the time."

I blushed and looked at him. "And I must admit, if he hadn't, I'd never have been sure Erik actually loved me. I had always thought that he would find love with another woman in the Opera House."

"Never," he said, taking my hands. "No one else would see me as a man instead of a monster."

Smiling, I reached up and caressed his cheek. Erik's green eyes had softened, but the love that burned there was bright. Lord, I was lucky or what?

Mama snorted. "Yes, well, this is all very lovely, but what am I supposed to tell your sisters?"

I stared at her. "You mean you haven't told them yet? Why not?"

She scowled at me as though I were an idiot. "As your sisters cannot keep a secret like this quiet, I believed it to be unwise in telling them where you actually are, and what has actually happened to you. Presently, Meg and Christine believe that you were called back to my cousin's home to care for him once more. I intend to create a story about you suddenly finding love and moving away from Paris. Perhaps, in a few years, your sisters will mature enough to be told the truth and keep it quiet. When they are, I will inform them of who you are married to."

I shook my head and sighed. Erik, however, looked amused as he got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, Madame," he said, bowing his head politely to my mother. "I must wash up before a few of my clients arrive."

"Clients?" Mama asked as Erik left the room. "What does he mean by that?"

I shrugged and poured her another cup of tea. "Erik's architectural hobby has caught the attention of Venice's elite. Most of them have hired him to redesign their summer homes, or to help them build entirely new ones in a more modern style."

She stared at me in disbelief. "The elite have _hired_ Erik to design their homes? Do they so easily accept him?"

"Oh, yes," I replied, offering her a plate of small sandwiches. "In spite of his hunting accident," I gave her a significant look, "he has been generally accepted by the rich and aristocratic. After all, his savings has put him on equal financial standing with most of them."

Mama took the hint and kept quiet, though she sighed in frustration. She knew where Erik had gotten his money from, but now that he had a respectable way of making a living, she couldn't really object.

"So what do you do, now that you live the life of a wealthy woman?" Mother asked, glancing around the room. "Do you sit around and do nothing, like most of them?"

Most people in the Populaire had grudges against the rich patrons, if only because they were rich and we were poor. I had been happy in my line of work, but many others had wanted more, though they didn't want to work hard to get it. Even Mama had wanted to rise up a bit in the Populaire, but since she couldn't, she'd trained her daughters to try and become great in one skill or another.

"I do attend the tea parties and such, but I've also become involved in some charity work," I told her. "Though in my opinion, what they call "charity work" is not enough charity, or work. I'd like to do more than sew shirts and give the occasional coin to the beggar on the corner."

"I've no worries that you will," Mama declared. "Now, while my mind is still with me, I need to inform you of a few things."

She had received a message from Erik over a month ago, and it had taken that long for her to pack up all of his belongings and get them to his contact in Paris. Everything (barring his precious organ) was on its way by train, and due to arrive within a week. My things, however, were already upstairs in the master bedroom, waiting for me to unpack it. I silently prayed that Nora hadn't already attacked the containers and begun sorting through them.

"Thank you for bringing everything," I said as we wrapped up our tea. "Would you like to see your room? I'm not sure which one they put you in, hopefully its one of the larger rooms with a fireplace. I know how you hate being chilled."

I gave my mother a quick tour of the downstairs, and was rewarded with her surprise, awe, and interest in the layout and the décor. When we reached the upper level, I pointed out my private parlor, Erik's study and workroom, and the master bedroom. I proceeded to take her to the guest hallway, and into the first room we came across, which had the door standing open. I was relieved to find that Mama's trunk had been opened, and her belongings unpacked for her.

My mother, however, was not pleased. "I would have liked to unpack my things myself," she said with a scowl.

I could tell that she _wanted_ to make things difficult, probably as a form of punishment for my frightening her so. Well, I had to put a stop to that, before Erik's patience was put to the test, and a fight broke out between him and Mama.

"Mother, if the servants have nothing to do, they become agitated," I gently told her. "They hate standing around, especially since they want to _earn_ their pay."

She snorted in disbelief. "You had better not let them cheat you, Lissie."

That was her exhaustion talking. Now that she had arrived in Venice, been fed a good tea, and had her things unpacked, she probably needed a nice quiet rest in a warm bed.

"Mama, why don't you take a nap?" I gently suggested. "Then you can join us downstairs for dinner. Or if you're still wary, I can have it brought up to your room."

She looked ready to protest, but thought the better of it. "Perhaps you are right. I would like a rest after all that traveling. I will try and join you for dinner later."

I nodded and left her to sleep, heading down to the kitchen to inform Deborah that there would be a third person to dinner, a person who would probably be with us for quite some time.

* * *

My mother did join Erik and me for dinner, just like she'd promised. Italian cuisine didn't seem to please her much, but she ate what we did, and in the end, Mama admitted that she did like the creamy sauce served over the fish. She also liked the dish of gelato that Carlos put before her, if only because it was a trio of flavors, and one of them was chocolate, which went well with the berry and orange flavors.

Thankfully, the conversation at the table was decent, for the most part. Erik thanked Mama for sending his "art supplies" to the villa, and she replied that it had been no trouble. Erik and I spoke of the weather in Venice, and all of the balls, parties, and gatherings we'd been to, while Mama listened and ate her meal.

After dinner, when we'd retired to the solitude of the library for drinks, Erik gave my mother the shock of her life: he asked her to stay at the villa permanently, so that she could retire from life at the Populaire.

She'd stared at him for a few minutes, and I'd fully expected her to either accept, or lecture him for treating her like a weak old woman. However, she surprised me by thanking Erik for his offer, and declaring it impossible for her to leave my sisters, at least for a while.

"First, I have to be sure that Meg attains the place of prima ballerina in the Opera House," Mama explained. "That should not be long in coming, for the current prima ballerina is growing slower in her movements. She has also been exchanging glances with one of the older male patrons, so she will likely be wed before long.

"Second," she continued, "there is the matter of Christine and her suitor."

I perked up in my seat. "Suitor?" I had a hunch as to who it would be, but wanted to be sure.

"The Vicomte de Changy," Mama proudly replied. "No doubt I'll soon have two daughters well married, which is something I've always hoped for all of you. When Christine is wed and Meg settled into her place at the Populaire, I shall retire. Until then, you will have me for the next few weeks, while the Opera House is between performances."

Then Mama and I began talking of going out shopping and to the local eateries while she was here. Erik suggested a few nights at the theater or the opera, to give Mama a chance to see what they looked like from the audiences' perspective. She glared at him, but I could see the amusement in her eyes as she lectured him on how he shouldn't tease his mother-in-law.

"Good heavens, you _are_ my mother-in-law," Erik said, leaning back in a chair with a glass of brandy in his hand. "Why didn't you warn me, Lissie?"

I glanced over at him in mock surprise, and very real amusement. "I thought _you_ were the genius. You should have figured it out sooner, rather than later."

Mama rolled her eyes and made as if to speak, but was interrupted by a knock on the library door. I called for the knocker to enter, and Nora popped in. "Your pardon, Madame Garnier, but a message has arrived from Lady Russell. It was late being delivered, and it seems she'd like a reply as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Nora," I said, rising from my seat. "Now, the two of you be civil while I'm gone. I don't want to come back and find the library looking as though a hurricane has gone through it."

Erik put on an innocent look, but Mama turned and looked at my maid. "Who is that girl?" she asked.

"My personal maid," I replied. "Nora, come say hello to my mother, Madame Antoinette Giry. She arrived today from Paris." Nora came and curtseyed politely, though I could see both women sizing each other up.

"A personal maid, Lissie?" Mama asked. "If you do nothing for yourself, you will become spoiled and lazy."

Nora looked offended and angry. "I assure you, Madame, your daughter does most of her preparations herself; I merely help with the more complicated hair styles. She is nothing like the company she keeps, and is the most generous and kind mistress."

My mother looked at her in surprise, then respect. "Well said," she replied. "Go on, Lissie, you mustn't keep that messenger waiting."

I hid a smile as I followed Nora out of the library. Lately, my maid had become more like a guard dog: fiercely loyal, and very protective whenever we went out into town. I attributed this to the gifts we gave her and the other servants for their hard work. Sometimes Erik gave a little bit of extra coin, or some of the foods that almost ended up going into the trash. Erik and I felt it a shame to waste perfectly good food, and whenever Erik and I had plenty of leftovers, we had it distributed to the staff, who were more than happy to take it home to their families, or eat it themselves.

As she was one of those who took things home, Nora was determined to show her appreciation and loyalty to us, her employers. Her parents lived with her father's sister and her family, all in one modest house. Nora's wages went to support herself, and a bit went to her mother and father, but it was difficult to feed a large family, so Nora was always grateful for the food we gave her. It was good, wholesome stuff, and she always said that her family was growing healthier and stronger because of it.

"Mama can do chores now without her bones creaking, and Papa isn't nearly as tired as he used to be," she'd told me last week. "My cousins have the strength to go out and play, when they couldn't before."

When Erik heard that, he threw together a few wooden toys and gave them to Nora, asking her to give them to her young cousins. He did the same for the rest of the staff who had children, and they all loved him for it. The toys weren't fancy, but they were strong enough to put up with rough play, which was all our workers asked for.

"Fancy toys are for fancy children," they said. "Ours live rougher lives, and they play hard with their toys."

All of the servants drew the line at accepting money, though. They wouldn't accept any extra money unless they felt they deserved it, which I thought was admirable. However, when Christmas came around, I had every intention of giving the staff a little bonus for all of their hard work.

That's not to say that the servants didn't thank us in their own ways for our generosity. I was occasionally slipped a piece of news or gossip that would never have reached my ears otherwise, and most of that news was very useful to have, so at least I didn't go into a gathering completely out of the gossip loop.

In my parlor, I read the note that Helena had sent me. It was an invitation to a small, intimate party tomorrow evening, and she'd asked me to bring my mother as well. I didn't bother to wonder how she knew my mother was here; Helen had eyes and ears everywhere, just like I had, so it shouldn't have surprised me.

Shaking my head, I wrote a quick reply and sent it off with Helen's messenger. I hoped Mama had a decent dress, but if not, we'd buy one while we were out tomorrow. In the meantime, I needed to get back to the library, before my husband and my mother destroyed the place. Humming, I headed downstairs, my ears listening for the sound of bickering and arguments.

Imagine my relief at finding the room intact and its two occupants sitting silently across from one another. Smiling, I sat next to Erik and accepted the glass of sherry he offered me.

"Now, what shall we talk about?" I asked, smiling.

* * *

AN: Okay, kind of boring, but I promise more fun next time. The next update will be in a couple weeks, at most, so hold tight until then. Thanks to everyone reading and/or reviewing!


	10. New Arrivals in Venice

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Greetings to all the readers who have stuck with me through this story! I plan to finish this fic soon (maybe in the next week or two), and am thinking of moving on to a Phantom-Twilight crossover story, which I'm hoping some of you will read and enjoy. It'll be Erik/OC of course, but I'm not sure if I want to make Erik a vampire or werewolf (though he'd be sexy as either one). Well, we'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime, thanks for reading, and please review!

**Chapter 10: New Arrivals in Venice:**

A month was not enough time to spend with Mama, and Erik and I did our best to keep her comfortable and happy. Between the shopping trips I took her on, the numerous parties we attended, and the rich foods we served her, I think her visit was very happy indeed.

Helen was part of the reason Mama enjoyed her visit so much. My friend invited us to her house three times a week for the whole month my mother was in Venice, and Mama grew to like her as much as I did.

"She's a good, smart woman," my mother often told me. "She will keep you out of trouble, and look out for you. She's just the sort of friend I would wish you to have here, when you are not under my own eye."

Not only did she like Helen, but both Lord and Lady Russell enjoyed Mama's company as well. In fact, I think Mama's opinion of the upper class rose a few notches, because after meeting Helen and Arthur, she began to relax a bit whenever we attended gatherings together. Personally, I think it was because Arthur found her refreshingly easy to talk to about anything and everything, while Helen loved comparing the newest fashions from Paris with the fashions of Venice. That might have helped a little.

When we weren't attending teas, parties, or going out for a night at the theater, Mama and I took many fun trips to the Venice marketplaces and shops. I bought her lengths of expensive Venetian lace, for her own use and to give as gifts to my sisters. Meg and Christine had always loved lace, so it'd be the perfect gift for them. I also bought my mother new clothes, shoes, and even a few pieces of jewelry for her to wear on our nights out to the theater. Mama protested at being given jewelry, but when I suggested that she give what she didn't want to my sisters, she kept quiet. Apparently a little 'persuasion' went a long way.

Then, suddenly, a month was passed, and it was time for Mama to return to Paris. She had to be sure that things were alright with Meg and Christine, and to tell them that her visit with me had gone well.

"I'll be sure to give them your love," she said. "And that you send the lace as gifts. They won't know the difference between lace from Paris and lace from Venice, but if they find out, I'll tell them you bought them with permission from my cousin."

Erik and I then saw her off on the train, where Erik had booked her a private sleeping room, and provided her with money so that she could eat well on the journey. She thanked him, and surprised us all by hugging him.

"Take good care of her, Erik," she warned him just before she boarded. "If you don't, I will come back and hurt you."

"Yes, Madame," Erik said, bowing his head slightly.

I thought it was nice that Mama was chuckling as she went aboard the train. It meant that things had gone well, and that was a very good thing.

* * *

"Alone at last!" Erik sighed, pulling me into his arms as soon as we were alone in our room. "I've missed holding you like this."

I giggled. "I never knew you could be so restrained in your emotions. You certainly made Mama happy by not being affectionate in public."

He rolled his eyes. "If by 'public' you mean your mother, then yes, I dared not show too much affection for you. Could you imagine what she'd have said if we so much as touched hands in her presence?"

By now I was laughing, and my amusement was obviously rubbing off on Erik. Smiling, he bent forward and kissed me into silence before carrying me off to bed.

* * *

Time passed quickly in our little part of the world. Erik's popularity in society grew, as did mine, and though I'd never say we were the toast of Venice, we had been accepted into the upper crusts of it.

However, Arthur and Helen were by far our closest friends, and the only ones we could completely trust. Erik's suspicious nature warned him that anyone else we knew might be trying to use us in some way, or was simply too dimwitted to keep a secret. Thus, we had only the Russells as our confidants, and even then we never told them our true pasts.

On our six month anniversary, Arthur and Helen decided to invite Erik and me over for dinner. As much as we wanted to celebrate our wedding anniversary alone, it was also a celebration of our first arrival in Venice, and since it was impossible to refuse Helen, Erik and I agreed to go.

Of course, it would figure that, the day after we ate at their home, I came down with a terrible bout of food poisoning.

* * *

"My angel, are you _sure_ you're alright?" Erik asked as he straightened his cravat. "I could still remain here and keep you company."

Sighing, I rolled onto my side to face him. Right now, I was torn between nausea, amusement, exasperation, annoyance, and anger. However, my fondness for him cancelled out most of my negative feelings, and all that remained was exasperation, amusement, and nausea.

"I told you, it's a mild case of illness," I said. "Aside from nausea and feeling tired, I'm fine."

I don't think the term "food poisoning" existed yet, so I was going with the tale that I was simply experiencing the stomach flu. All I'd done today was hurl in the toilet for a while, go back to sleep until noon, and wake long enough to have some chicken broth before going back to sleep. Basically, it was the typical day of a sick person.

Erik, however, was worrying about me worse than my mother ever did. I'd rarely been ill back at the Paris Opera House, and when either I or my sisters were sick, Mama had always fretted to the point of exhaustion, only leaving our sides to be sure the ballerinas were doing their exercises.

Today, Erik was worse than my mother. He _hovered_ all the time, and had sat by the bed all day, as though wanting to be sure I was alright. He had neglected his work, and had even snapped at the servants if they tried to come into our bedroom, saying that they were disturbing my recovery. Luckily, the servants understood and chose to keep their distance, for their sakes.

But he couldn't watch over me all the time, because tonight he had certain duties to perform. Once I was awake and relatively better, I'd had to persuade him to go out tonight, without me by his side. It had taken a lot of gentle prodding (and a bit of snapping on my part), but he'd given in. We both knew it would look bad for him to not go out tonight, especially when he had to meet with a few of his clients.

'_He's come such a long way_,' I thought with a smile. '_From the isolated Phantom to architect for the wealthy; who'd have thought_?'

I'd always believed that work would come first for Erik, but now I knew better. It said a lot about my husband, that he would rather stay here with me while I was sick than go meet with his clients. He was only going tonight because he had questions that desperately needed answers, and to deliver plans to a _very_ rich German noble who was leaving Venice in the morning.

"Promise me you will stay in bed," Erik pleaded as he combed his hair. "If you need anything, call Nora and she will bring it to you. And if you need me, I will run the length of Venice to be by your side."

I chuckled and reached my arms out for him. "Love, your collar's crooked," I chided him. He came over and bent so I could fix it. "Now, I promise to call Nora if I need anything, but I doubt you'll need to run the streets and swim the canals tonight. So, go to the theater, ask questions, deliver plans, and come tell me what the play was about. In French, please; you know my Italian lessons with Helen and Nora aren't coming along too well."

He rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to my cheek before heading out the door. Erik knew that I was a poor student of languages, and that in spite of Nora's and Helen's best efforts, I was getting no where. I think he was considering teaching me himself, which might not be such a bad idea.

Collapsing back on the bed, I closed my eyes and fell asleep, waiting for my sweet husband to come back to me.

* * *

From her home, Destiny looked into her magic mirror and scowled. Something wasn't right, and she had to know what. Her dear little charge, Lisette, was happy in her new life with her new husband, but there was most definitely something going on, and Destiny didn't like it.

"Probably because nothing's _supposed_ to happen," she muttered, telepathically asking the mirror to zoom in on 19th Century Venice.

After the Paris Opera House, Destiny had seen that Lissie and Erik were going to live happily ever after. They'd get married, settle down in Venice, and live a full, happy life together.

Unfortunately, when Destiny tried to "fix" a person's destined path, a monkey wrench sometimes fell into the machine, and unexpected things occurred. It looked like this was going to be one of those times.

"I just wish I knew what I was looking for," she muttered.

Although she and her sister were powerful, they weren't completely omniscient –for them, it was usually by chance or a "gut feeling" that they discovered a major disaster was going to strike their 'chosen ones.' Once they knew, Fate and Destiny could do what they could to prepare their 'chosen' for whatever was heading their way.

Destiny, however, liked to know who or what she was going to have her charges facing. The more they knew, the better prepared they were, and things tended to turn out much more positive than going in blindly. Too bad it wasn't working out that way.

"I'll just have to keep a closer eye on them, then," she muttered, telepathically asking the mirror to show her Lissie.

To her relief, Lissie was at home, sleeping, though from her aura, she was feeling a bit under the weather. Erik, however, was no where in the house, and that worried Destiny just a little bit. Shouldn't he be at home with his sick wife? Unless…

"She told him to go out tonight without her," Destiny said, shaking her head. "That would figure."

Shifting her thoughts to Erik, the mirror panned to the Venice theater, where she spotted Erik in a box, alone, and with a deep scowl on his face. Destiny knew that he'd be leaving during the intermission; it was kind of obvious that he was upset and worried, so heavens help whoever got in his way.

Just then, Destiny felt her senses tingling, kind of like Spiderman's did whenever trouble was coming. Using a touch of magic, she did a scan of all the patrons in the theater, and saw what was going to be the cause of trouble for her charges. She also knew that as soon as dawn came to Venice, she'd have to pay her poor sick Lissie a visit.

* * *

Fanning herself, Celia de Ghent did her best not to sigh in boredom. Nights at the theater were _so_ dull, but it was required of the wealthy. It showed that a person had class, and appreciated the arts, even if they actually despised attending.

She could feel the male patrons looking her way, and hid a smirk. No doubt she would have invitations to numerous gatherings by the end of tonight, most of them from unmarried men, and a few from those who were already married. Popularity was part of being beautiful.

'_Though the wives certainly will prevent me from even coming close to their homes_.'

Celia pushed aside any thoughts of those women –they were old, unattractive, or just plain idiotic. Those who were attractive, young, or (rarely) clever were the ones she had to keep an eye open for. She detested competition when it came to men.

Actually, all women were competition to her. The older ones possessed air and dignity, as well as firm grips on society, and they could exclude her from all of the most important balls and parties. The younger ones who had pretty faces usually had a firmer grip on their husbands, but only because they were so young and attractive.

All this tended to leave Celia with less to have fun with –at least until the husbands got a better glance at her face.

Of course, it was rare for someone to have _her_ looks. Celia knew that her flaming red hair caught attention, as did her blue eyes and very shapely figure. Men couldn't resist her looks, nor her charms, and she, in turn, adored the attention – and gratification – they so willingly provided.

'_Mother taught me well_,' she smirked.

Of course, Celia was a prize many men desired, not only for her looks, but for her family's name and wealth. Her father had been a very rich French aristocrat, her mother a beauty from a minor noble house, and the two together had been the toast of French society, always going to the opera, to parties, and any other event they might be invited to.

When Celia had been born, her father had been ecstatic. He'd always wanted a little girl, and as she grew up, he spoiled her as much as he spoiled her mother. Dresses, jewelry, horses, anything Celia wanted, it was hers. And when it came time to be out in society, Celia discovered something: she discovered the power of her beauty.

Since the day she was sixteen, men came to her in droves, and all of them lavished expensive gifts on her in order to gain her favor. Her father had passed away by then, and by watching her widowed mother, Celia learned how to get whatever she wanted from men without having to do more than cast a certain look. With these techniques, her mother was remarried as soon as her mourning period ended, and went off to live in style in Paris.

Celia, as her father's only heir, was to inherit his wealth on her twenty-fifth birthday, but until then received an allowance of money every two months. Presently, at aged twenty-two, she'd chosen to move to Venice, hoping that Italian men were more fun than French. So far, she wasn't disappointed; her bed hadn't been empty since the day she arrived, and she did so like tall, dark, handsome men.

Glancing at the box across from her, Celia stopped fanning herself. '_Oh, my_,' she thought, smirking. '_And speaking of tall, dark and handsome_…'

He was certainly a fine man, possessing lush black hair, finely chiseled features, and an air of mystery and class that most men could never achieve. Even more intriguing was the fact that he wore a white mask on the right side of his very handsome face.

Celia was immediately fascinated, and her mind quickly began running through the local gossip she'd heard from her servants. This had to be Monsieur Erik Garnier, a wealthy Frenchman who was currently in the employ of a dozen rich or noble couples. It seemed that he had a talent for architecture, and had been hired by many to build or remodel their summer houses.

"I always did love a man who could work with his hands," she muttered, blue eyes focused on the man across from her. Perhaps she should stop by his box at intermission and say hello?

When the curtain came down and intermission began, Celia gracefully rose from her seat and headed to the other side of the theater. However, by the time she reached her destination, the box was empty –Monsieur Garnier was nowhere in sight.

"Where is he?" she demanded of the usher standing in the hallway. "The man who was in this box."

"Monsieur Garnier had gone home for the night," the young man calmly replied. "His wife is ill this evening, and he desired to be home with her."

Damn it, she's forgotten he was married. Well, that hardly mattered; she'd had married men before. Besides, from what Celia had heard, Madame Garnier had been a common housekeeper before she'd married, and probably lacked the refinements of a lady. Celia was confident she could persuade Monsieur Garnier to join her for an evening full of delights –she just had to wait for the right moment to approach him.

* * *

Four days went by, and still Celia did not encounter Erik Garnier. It was frustrating, because none of her servants (all of whom served as her spies in the streets) could tell her why he was holed up in his house. Several maids had said it was because he was caring for his wife, but Celia dismissed the absurd idea. Few men cared about their wives, and she doubted that Erik Garnier was one of them. Men like him never settled down with one woman.

Finally, five days after she had first seen him, she spotted Monsieur Garnier in the marketplace. He did look quite dashing in his green overcoat, and she noticed that he had the deepest green eyes. Oh, she did love green eyes!

Her pleasure at seeing him was dulled by the sight of a pale, sickly creature coming to hold onto his arm. The woman had brown hair and brown eyes (a rather dull combination, in Celia's point of view), and was at least four inches shorter than Celia.

'_That cannot be his wife_,' she sniffed, glaring disdainfully at the woman. '_How can a man like that be married to such a sickly little thing_?'

Perhaps he had felt compelled to marry her? He was disfigured from a hunting accident, and rumors said that his housekeeper had cared for him for years, so perhaps he had wed her out of desperation or fear of never finding a society bride? That would certainly explain it.

Well, no matter. It was, no doubt, a loveless marriage, and Celia would happily provide a distraction from the miseries going on in his home. It would be no trouble luring him to her home and thus, to her willing affections.

'_Now the only thing left to do is provide a reason for him to enter my house_,' she thought, smirking as she turned towards home.

* * *

"Oh, no you don't," Destiny growled. "You're _not_ going to ruin Lissie's life, not after I've gotten it all nice and tidy for her." Seriously, the last thing that girl needed right now was a rival, particularly in her condition.

Destiny had been working her butt off for days trying to figure out what was going on, and now that she'd seen who the "wrench in the machine" was going to be, Destiny knew she'd have to take care of it. Her magical Book had stated that Erik was supposed to live a life without problems, and that was what she was going to give him. Besides, she liked Lissie, and wanted what was best for her.

"Honey, I'm going out!" she called. It was a private joke between her and her sister: if one was going out on an emergency, they called out to let the other know, just in case backup was needed.

"Okay!" Fate yelled back. "You know what to do if you need me. Just try not to set anyone or anything on fire again!"

Shaking her head, Destiny disappeared in a swirl of glitter and light, wondering if fire might not be the solution to her problem this time.

* * *

AN: Okay, a little more excitement in this chapter, and a bit more to come. The next chapter's going to be full of fun and surprises for both Erik and Lissie, so keep your eyes peeled. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	11. The Wrench in the Machine

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to _**Phantom of the Opera**_. Only original characters and concepts are mine.

AN: Okay, I lied: it'll take longer to post these chapters than I thought, because real life has continually gotten in the way. Thus, it'll be one update a week until this is finished, which will still be quite soon. In the meantime, please enjoy and review. Thanks!

**Chapter 11: The Wrench in the Machine:**

Sighing, I stretched out on the bed and tried to fight the nausea churning in my gut. This was turning out to be one hell of a flu bug, and it was lasting a lot longer than I thought it would. I thought I'd been getting better, and even gone out once or twice, but I always felt sick again the next day.

'_I miss Nora_,' I thought, wistfully thinking of my wonderful doting maid.

Unfortunately, she was out on her day off, though I had to admit, it was at my insistence. She'd been so good about looking after me, and I felt so guilty about her working so hard that I'd ordered her to go out and visit her family, because they needed her, too.

Erik, meanwhile, was in his study, probably with an ear open in case I rang for something. He'd come running the second he heard the first 'ding' of the bell, and then I'd have to put up with him hovering over me for an hour. I couldn't even call the other servants, because Erik had ordered them to stay downstairs and not disturb me. Apparently, he felt that only he could look after me properly.

Closing my eyes, I tried to get comfortable enough to sleep. It would, of course, figure that just as I was drifting off, I heard what sounded like a large bubble popping. Opening my eyes, I almost screamed and nearly fell off the bed in surprise. Thank god the door was closed, or Erik would have come running to see what was wrong.

"Whoa, careful there, sweetie," Destiny said, coming over to help settle me on the bed. "It'd be bad if you to hurt the little one."

I stared at her. "Little one? What do you mean?"

Destiny quirked an elegant blue eyebrow at me. "The baby," she deadpanned, looking at me with those silver-gold eyes.

I looked at my stomach in shock. "Oh, my god," I gasped. "I'm pregnant?"

"Yeah, that's usually what it means when you have a tiny human being growing inside you," she said dryly.

My hand was now stroking my belly. "Oh, god," I muttered. "That explains my being sick for so long, and why I don't fit into my corsets very well anymore."

Destiny shot me a warning look. "If I were you, I'd pass on the corsets for the next six or seven months. Actually, it'd be forever if it were me, but if you want to stick with the current fashions, you can go back to them after the baby's born."

"I'm going to have a baby," I whispered dreamily, staring off into space.

Erik was going to completely freak out when I told him. We hadn't talked about starting a family, but this was still fantastic news. I was going to be a mommy! And Erik was going to be a great dad, I was sure of it.

Then I remembered who was with me in the room, and my blood went cold. "Wait, is that why you're here?" I asked, suddenly feeling very afraid. "Is it because-"

Destiny shook her head and smiled. "No, sweetie, that's not why I'm here. The baby is going to be perfectly ordinary, and I've got nothing planned for it."

"It?" I said, feeling insulted for some reason. "Can't you tell me if it's a boy or a girl?"

She shook her head. "A bit too early to tell. Besides, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise."

I sighed. "Okay, fine. But if it's not about the baby, then why are you here?"

Silver-gold eyes narrowed. "I'm here to make sure that all our hard work isn't ruined by some scheming, spoiled girl who wants to get her claws into your husband. Almost literally, if you catch my drift…"

Anger and disgust ate away at the joy I'd been feeling. Someone was trying to take my husband away from me? "Who are we talking about, exactly?" I slowly ground out.

"That is what I would very much like to know," said a male voice from the doorway.

Destiny and I both turned to see Erik standing there, a puzzled and astonished look on his face. I saw him taking in Destiny's blue-green hair and silver-gold eyes, and watched as realization dawned on him. He knew that my friend wasn't…well, human.

"Crap," she muttered. "I'll talk to you later, Lissie."

Then she vanished, leaving me to explain what the hell had just happened.

* * *

Turning towards his wife, Erik gave her a look that demanded an explanation. She sighed and motioned for him to close the door, which he did, though he made sure to lock it as well. With the room secure, Erik took a seat on the bed beside his wife.

"Erik, I have something to tell you," she said, laying down on the bed. "The woman who was here is the anthropomorphic personification of Destiny."

It took him a moment to fully deduce what she had just said. "She is…what?"

Lissie sighed. "She is Destiny, the one who makes sure that every person's destiny goes exactly the way it's supposed to. Occasionally, though, someone slips through the cracks, and she has to pick someone mortal to go back through time in order to fix it." She blushed slightly. "And…I'm afraid that's what happened to you."

"Me?" he asked, incredulous. "What are you talking about?"

"Erik," she said, looking away from him. "I…I'm from the future. Destiny brought me – or rather, my soul – back through time in order to make sure your life wasn't one that was full of loneliness and heartache. My job was to make sure you ended up with someone who could love and support you, and stand by you no matter what happened in life. I thought I was supposed to find that special someone and somehow bring the two of you together."

Lissie blushed even harder. "I didn't expect to be the one to fall for you, or you with me…though I have to admit, I'm rather glad we did."

He thought about that for a moment. It was an incredible story, and had it not been for the blue-haired woman with metallic eyes that vanished right in front of him, he'd never have believed it. As it was, Erik had always known there was something special about his beloved; he'd only assumed it was only him who had seen it.

'_Apparently not_,' he thought, looking over at the worried face of his wife. And right now, he had a few questions that needed answering.

"How did she find out about me?" he asked. "Of all the people in the world, how did she know what my life would be like?"

Lissie began to shift nervously on the bed. "Well, if I hadn't come to the Opera House, you would have been completely consumed with your art and music until the day Mama brought home Christine. Then you would have begun teaching her to sing, fallen in love with her when she grew up, and done all sorts of horrible things to try and win her heart. Then Raoul, the Vicomte de Changy, would arrive, he and Christine would fall in love, and then you'd have done a lot more horrible things before having your heart broken by Christine, who would leave you shattered and weeping in your house by the lake."

All of that had come out in a rush, and Erik had to try and put it all together in his mind. Fall in love with Christine, of all people? The girl, though not stupid, was certainly very innocent in the ways of the world, and delicate. She needed a man with an extremely gentle nature to love her, and Erik was certainly not that sort of person. Let her have her Vicomte; he was undoubtedly more suited to her.

"And Destiny told you all of this?" he asked, disbelievingly.

She gave an embarrassed smile. "Well, no, actually. The legend of the Phantom of the Opera is pretty widely known back where – and when –I come from. Many people around Europe and America know about you."

"Hmm, so I'm infamous, am I?" he drawled, leaning down to kiss her.

They parted a few minutes later, and Lissie looked skeptically up at him. "You're taking this remarkably well. I'd always thought you would get angry and start throwing things around, like you used to. How can you be so calm?"

"From what I have seen, it is clear that you are telling the truth." He smiled and ran his fingers through her hair. "I am not the man I once was. You have changed me for the better, my dearest Lisette. Through your love, patience, and kindness, I'm better than I was before. Never did I think to actually be married to a woman such as you; I never considered the idea that I would be a husband."

Lissie smiled, taking his hand from her hair and putting it on her stomach. "And a father," she said softly and contentedly.

Looking at his hand, Erik felt a sense of awe that he had never experienced before. He was going to be a _father_?

It shouldn't have been a surprise, but it was. Not once had he ever thought of fathering a child, and here one was, growing in the belly of his beloved wife; she who lay there so calmly and contentedly, smiling up at him like an angel. Lord, how he loved her.

'_And she had been sent from the heavens, like an angel_,' he realized. '_Some higher power looked at what my life would be like without love and sent her to me. If I ever meet this Destiny, I will thank her with every breath I take in her presence_.'

He snapped back to himself at the sound of a yawn. His wife was blinking sleepily up at him, looking like a contented, drowsy cat.

"Can I ask you something, before I fall asleep?" she asked. "What brought you here, when Destiny was visiting?"

Erik shrugged and smiled. "Something just told me to come and look in on you. I don't understand it myself, but it was like a little voice was saying that I had to check to see if you were alright."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "I wouldn't be surprised if Destiny's sister was the one who pulled that off."

"Sister?" he asked, squeezing Lissie's arm to keep her awake. "What sister?"

"Fate, of course," she murmured, right before she drifted off.

"Of course," he replied, curling up beside her. Perhaps a nap was what they both needed just now.

* * *

"You little sneak!" Destiny cried, appearing in her house.

Fate shrugged and tossed her flaming red-orange-yellow hair over her shoulder. "Hey, it had to be done. You know that the truth had to come out sooner or later."

"But you pushed the issue!" Destiny said, reaching out to smack her sister in the shoulder. "That's almost breaking the rules!"

"Nope, not quite," Fate replied, waving a finger in front of her sis's face. "Just bending them, is all. The sooner they know the whole thing, the sooner you can all get down to business and deal with this little problem of yours. Besides, if Erik knows the truth, he can develop a better plan for dealing with the little hussy trying to move in on him."

She was right, and Destiny knew it, though she'd never admit it. She never did. That's just how sisters were. So she did what she always did in this kind of case: she sighed.

"Fine, whatever."

Fate grinned, but didn't say anything. Instead, she went into the kitchen and came out with a small carton of chocolate-vanilla ice cream with a swirl of caramel spun through it. It was their usual peace offering, and Destiny took the carton, muttering under her breath as she made a spoon appear in her hand.

She was on her second bite when she got a slight tingle in the back of her head. "Crap," she muttered, putting the ice cream on the counter. "Gotta go. Duty calls."

Then, in a swirl of blue-green-gold lights, she was gone, but not before calling out to her sister, "And don't touch my ice cream!"

* * *

They were both in a field of beautiful wild flowers, a field that went on forever in all directions, and with a purple sky stretching just as far. Erik blinked and looked over at Lissie, who, for some reason, was extremely calm.

"Well, it's certainly been a while since I've been here," she said, looking around.

He stared at her in surprise. "You've been here before?" he asked, confused. "Then where are we?"

Lissie shrugged. "In a place between awake and dreams. Actually, we might even be dreaming the same thing, but I try not to think about the details. When I was growing up in the Paris Opera House, Destiny would bring me here to give orders, or some helpful advice. She usually doesn't take very long to make her appearance."

"Actually, I'm here," a voice rang out across the field. And there she was.

Now Erik could get a good look at her. She was amazingly tall, about his height, but he presumed that was because she was a fantastically powerful being. Her face was faery-like: fair, with strange-shaped eyes and a slightly pointed chin, as well as leaf-shaped ears. The blue-green hair and gold-silver eyes were also a clear sign that she wasn't human.

"Well, here we are," Destiny said, eying Erik up and down. "So, Monsieur, has my charge told you everything?"

Erik nodded. "It certainly has been an interesting day," he commented, looking over at his wife, who blushed. "And may I offer my thanks to you, Lady Destiny, for sending an angel to me? I don't know where I would be now without her."

Destiny winced. "Trust me, darling, you don't _want_ to know where you'd be right now if it weren't for dear Lissie here. Think someplace dark, lonely, and very, very depressing."

He also winced. That sounded like his world before Lissie had come into his life. Erik really didn't want to know how things might be now without her…and their baby.

Reaching out, he pulled Lissie into a tight hug. She squeaked in surprise, but returned it, hugging him with just as much fervor. Holding her close, Erik realized that he owed her more than he could ever repay. She was his everything, because she had brought everything good into his life. Without her, life was not worth living.

"Oh, that's sweet," Destiny cooed. "You're so cute together! This may be one of my best pairings yet. Fate's going to be _so_ jealous."

"I am not," retorted another voice, which echoed across the sky.

Lissie giggled as Erik looked around. "Your sister, I presume?" he drawled, looking over at Destiny.

She nodded. "But anyway, let's get down to business, shall we? You already know, I'm sure, that it's my job to oversee the destined paths of everyone, from the smallest, most insignificant person, to those with tremendous, earth shattering tasks ahead of them. Most of the time, things go well, but occasionally, a small hiccup happens and has to be fixed." Destiny looked at them both. "This is one of those times."

Erik felt Lissie stiffen in his arms. "It's about that woman, isn't it?" she asked, furious. "The one trying to take Erik from me."

He looked at her. "What woman?" There would never be another woman in his life, not ever.

Destiny sighed. "Her name is Celia de Ghent, and she's a noblewoman from France. All you need to know is that she's a very spoiled brat who's known for leaving a trail of broken hearts and affairs behind her. Right now, she's got her sights set on Erik as her next conquest."

Erik felt his blood boil, then grow cold. "I would never-" he began, but was cut off by Destiny.

"I know you would never betray Lissie like that," she assured him. "But the fact of the matter is this: Celia is going to do everything in her power to get her way, and should not be underestimated. She's rich, she's gorgeous, and whether people want to admit it or not, her looks add to her power as an aristocrat. If she wants Erik as a lover, she's going to use all her influence to get at him."

"Even if he refuses?" Lissie asked, looking worried. "I mean, no means no, right?"

"I have a feeling that Celia doesn't know the meaning of the word," Erik muttered to her.

Destiny heard him. "He's right. Celia has been spoiled from day one, and doesn't like to be refused. For some reason, she wants Erik, and she wants him badly. It might be the whole mask thing, or it could be that she merely wants that air of mystery he's got. Either way, she's going to cause a lot of trouble, namely by making life miserable for you both. If this isn't stopped now, the two of you will be fleeing Venice by the end of the year, and none of us want that."

"We could leave Venice now," Erik grudgingly suggested. He adored the place, and didn't want to leave, but if it kept Lissie and their child safe, that was all that mattered.

Lissie sniffed in distain. "We are not leaving," she said firmly. "We were here first, we've got friends here, and we're just starting to fit in. Besides, I want our baby raised in a place that appreciates art, music, and theater, and Paris is out of the question. We stay here."

Destiny was grinning. "Good. Now that that's settled, let's get to work. I've got a plan that'll get Celia out of the way, and without there being harm done to anyone except her."

* * *

AN: Thanks so much to everyone who's been reading this story, and extra kudos to those who have reviewed! I'll see you next week!


	12. Taking Care of Business

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Hello to everyone! Quick announcement: there is only this chapter, and the next, then an epilogue, and that'll be it for this story. Everything will be wrapped up quickly, and then I'll be off to start on another _**Phantom**_ story. In the meantime, please enjoy the chapter, and don't forget to review! Thanks!

**Chapter 12: Taking Care of Business: **

Apparently carrying out Destiny's plan was going to be harder than I thought.

After Erik and I woke up from our "meeting" with Destiny, I was faced with a somewhat skeptical husband who didn't seem ready to believe all that he'd just seen and been through. Of course, he was kind of groggy from sleep, and just learned his wife was from the future, so I guess that was understandable.

When Erik did manage to come to his senses, though, we had our hands full in coming up with a plan. We now knew all about Celia's past and her personality, as well as an _idea_ for a plan (courtesy of Destiny), but we still had no idea how to implement it. Basically, we had to plan how to put another plan into action.

'_Jeez, this is way too complicated for me_,' I admitted as Erik locked us both in his study after breakfast.

My husband was the genius, so I decided to let him work out the details while I sat, listened, and pointed out what was possible and what wasn't. He wouldn't _like_ me pointing out that he was wrong, but someone had to do it, so it might as well be me.

"So what do we know?" I said, leaning back in my chair and propping my stocking feet on a footstool. "Let us start with that and work forward from there." That much, I knew about planning something: start at the beginning with what information you had.

Erik began pacing –he always did his best work while keeping his hands or feet busy.

"We know that Celia is from a wealthy family, and has inherited everything of value because of her parents' deaths," he said, scowling in thought. "The family wealth and its ties to certain businesses are large enough to bring in a good income, but Mademoiselle de Ghent lives lavishly and ignores the budgets that her father's financial advisers suggest to her."

I smiled, knowing how Erik hated overspending. He was as brilliant with keeping accounts as he was with his art. "We also know her late father's advisors are providing her with an allowance or stipend until she is twenty-five years of age," I reminded him. "From what Destiny said, that will not be until for another two years."

He nodded and continued. "Instead of spending her income wisely, she grabs at the funds given to her and spends it on jewelry, gowns, decorating the houses her father left her, and throwing lavish parties. This has caused her to run up some _very_ high bills, most of which have yet to be paid because Celia refuses to budget herself, and live within her means."

"Don't forget how she throws spectacular fits because she doesn't like owing money," I pointed out smiling as I wiggled my toes, causing Erik to chuckle. "And how she puts off paying her debts because she'd rather use her funds to buy more things, which means most of the shops she visits have to wait longer and longer for their money, though they do eventually get it."

I sighed and leaned back in my chair. "So, Destiny's plan is to drive her from Venice, but without making it look like we've driven her off. Because if it looks like we got rid of her, the upper class might never feel the same about us again."

"Exactly," he said, pacing once more. "But how are we going to do what she's asked us to do, without being so obvious?"

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. "Monsieur, Madame?" Nora called. "I have an invitation from Lady Russell. She would like a reply as soon as possible."

Erik looked furious at being disturbed, but I merely grinned at him. "Ask and ye shall receive," I said. "You'd better answer when opportunity knocks."

* * *

"I'm so glad you were able to make it, Lissie," Helen said, looking relieved as I pressed an affectionate kiss to her cheek. "I have no idea how your first invitation managed to get misplaced. If I didn't know that you're always prompt in your RSVP's, I'd never have known something was wrong. I swear I'll _never_ use that messenger again."

Erik smiled and kissed her gloved hand. "No harm done, my dear. What matters is we are here, and the party may officially begin."

Helen and Arthur laughed, then ushered us into their house, allowing the other guests behind us to greet them. Erik took my hand and tucked it into his elbow, clearly indicating that he was not letting me out of his sight. He had gotten very protective lately; just this morning, he had made me promise to stay away from the alcohol and warn him if I felt even the tiniest desire to return home. I had a feeling he'd be a very overprotective father.

"A moment, my love," he whispered, reaching over to adjust my mask. "There, now you're perfect."

"I am not," I muttered to him. "I'm hungry and thirsty, and starting to crave foods that people will think I'm crazy for wanting to eat."

That made him chuckle. "Then let us find a place to sit, and I will fetch you something."

"No, no, business first," I said, then paused. "On the other hand, perhaps a nice glass of lemonade should be first, _then_ business. Food can wait a bit, since we ate before we left the house."

Tonight, we were attending a masquerade ball, and once more, Erik was not the Red Death I'd wanted him to be. Instead, he was in his usual tuxedo while I was garbed in emerald green silk as a forest sprite. Erik wore his black mask, and I was in gold-trimmed green. I think we made a cute couple, but next time, I was making him dress in the Red Death costume, whether he wanted to or not.

It had been over two weeks since Destiny had spoken to us, and since then, Erik and I had done our best to put together a plan that would be both swift and effective. There were several things that could go wrong, but we both hoped that nothing would.

"You're sure _she'll_ be here?" Erik asked, trying to hide a sneer.

"She'll be here," I replied, taking a glass of lemonade from a passing waiter. "If a person with a title is holding a party or ball, Celia de Ghent will be there, whether she's invited or not."

In the two weeks since I'd found out about her, Mademoiselle de Ghent had boldly done everything she could to catch Erik's eye. Whenever I went to the theater or the opera with him, Celia was there in the box across from ours, wearing a gown that was cut as low as possible, but still socially acceptable. Around her neck usually dangled a necklace that drew a man's eye, and she often made lustful glances in Erik's direction, usually when I wasn't looking, and sometimes when I was.

'_I'm just lucky no one else noticed them_,' I thought, gritting my teeth. Or if they did, they were keeping quiet about it.

Then, just a few days ago, she had decided to be bolder by having the nerve to invite Erik over to her home –and only Erik. Celia obviously meant business.

Erik tried to keep this from me, believing it would somehow bring harm to the baby if he stressed me too much, but it was a bad move on his part. Servants always talk, and that very afternoon, Nora was whispering the news into my ears.

Though I should have been angry at Erik, I was mostly angry with Celia. Personally, I was ready to have a showdown with her, but Erik wouldn't have it –he wanted me calm and safe, if only for the baby's sake, and decided to be rational about the whole thing. He sent a blunt refusal to her invitation, and spent the whole day at home with me, planning out which room we would use as the baby's. That day actually ended on a positive note, in spite of it all.

The day after that, however, Celia had tried being coy, namely by sending a message asking Erik to redesign a home of hers. She also invited him to her house to 'talk' about the plans, which left me fuming. Again, Erik refused the invite, and did his best to calm me down by showing me designs he'd made for the baby's nursery, which we argued about for hours before settling down on one we both liked.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. In spite of Celia's seductive attempts on Erik, there were a few good things that came about. First, we had the perfect nursery plans made up, with an army of construction people hired to create it. Erik couldn't wait to see how it turned out, and was even prepared in case it wasn't up to his expectations.

But secondly, and most important of all, Erik and I had the information we needed to make sure our plan could be put into action, and be successful.

Because of her desire to win Erik, Celia de Ghent had been burning her way through her sizable stipend. In purchasing new gowns, jewelry, and tickets to the opera and theater, she was running up debts that were higher than she ever had before, and not paying them. She also wasn't due to receive another stipend from her father's estate for another few months at least, which was making the store clerks more than a bit edgy.

And that was where our plan would kick in.

"Shall we dance, my angel?" Erik whispered, taking my empty glass from me.

Smiling, I accepted his hand and slid into his arms.

* * *

Watching Erik Garnier dance was like watching an entrancing creature stalk through a crowd, and Celia couldn't get enough of it. A pity it wasn't _her_ gliding around in his arms…

'_But it soon will be_,' she assured herself.

So what if he refused her invitations? It had probably been foolish to send them to his house anyway, especially since that sickly wife of his was there all the time. Of course he'd had to refuse; he would be caught otherwise, and society didn't approve of open affairs. That was also probably why he didn't stare at her new wardrobe and jewelry, because a married man openly admiring a young woman like her would be shameful and a disgrace to him.

'_Perhaps I should be more subtle_,' Celia mused, watching the tall, dark, dashing man.

No, subtlety was not her way. Besides, it was boring, and it rarely got the point across efficiently. Directness was certainly the best approach in this sort of situation, since it got attention and made things easier.

'_But it would be so much easier if he weren't here with his wife_.'

Behind her mask, Celia sneered. How could the man bear having that weak little thing on his arm? Granted, she was a fair dancer, but Celia had no doubt that most of the Garniers' evening would be spent seated in a chair, watching the amusements of others.

'_Poor Erik_,' she sighed to herself. '_Perhaps I can help rescue him from his boredom_.'

"Mademoiselle?" purred a male voice beside her. "Would you care for a dance?"

Celia turned to spot a fine figure of a man beside her. Donning her best coy look, she smiled at him. "I would be delighted."

* * *

"Now, Lissie," whispered a voice in my ear. Without looking around, I knew it was Destiny.

"Erik," I hissed, grasping his arm to get his attention. He was busy trying to get a server to bring me something to eat and drink, but at my voice, he turned to look at me in concern. "Erik, we have to act now. Trust me."

He stared at me a moment, then nodded. "Very well," he said. "Who shall we start with first?"

I thought about it. "Helen and Arthur?" I suggested. "If they spread talk, everyone will believe it, because Lady Russell only spreads gossip when she knows it is fact."

My husband suddenly had a grin on his face that made me more than a bit suspicious. "I wonder," he murmured into my ear, "How many stories can we make up and spread before people start doubting our words?"

"Vindictive, aren't we?" I teased, jabbing him in the side. "Shame on you."

Erik merely smiled and led me towards our friends. Helen saw me coming and happily clasped my hands in hers. Arthur, meanwhile, shook Erik's hand, and the two Russells quickly engaged us in friendly talk.

"Oh, Lissie, I still feel terrible about this whole mishap with your invitation," Helen said, looking apologetic. "I do hope you'll forgive me."

"I hardly think it was your fault, Helen," I said, smiling kindly at her. "No need to feel guilty over something you couldn't foresee."

"You're right," she agreed, waving her worries aside. "Let's talk about something cheerier."

For a while, we indulged in gossip about people around town, and inevitably, we arrived on the subject of Celia de Ghent, who most of the social butterflies did not like, each for reasons of her own. Most women disliked her because she flaunted herself before their husbands, and had no qualms about openly taking lovers and discarding them later.

"She also spends money as though it were water," Helen complained. "I know I tend to spend a great deal at the shops, but Mademoiselle de Ghent goes too far! She just continues in throwing money away at the clothing and jewelry shops with no thought on how to pay for it when the bills come. It's as though she thinks her funds are limitless!"

I bit back a grin. This was perfect! Sighing dramatically, I shook my head. "Yes, it's a bit sad, really."

Helen eyed me closely. "You know something, don't you? Well, spill it out, dear, I must know what you know! Tell, tell!"

I leaned close to her ear. "Well, I don't want to be the one to air someone else's dirty laundry, but I _can_ tell you that it is such a shame that Mademoiselle de Ghent is in such a bad financial situation."

Helen flipped open her fan to hide her surprise. "Do you mean that she is ruined?" Helen whispered behind the delicate barrier of her fan. Being ruined was the worst thing that could happen to a wealthy aristocrat.

"Oh, no, not _ruined_, exactly," I replied casually. "I've heard she's been living beyond her means, and that the store clerks are getting a bit anxious about getting their money. They think she has no intention of paying her bills any time soon, and you _know_ what that usually leads to."

Helen looked more than a bit alarmed. "Do you think she'll flee the city, rather than pay? I know she's not a likable woman, but I doubt she's the sort who would run out on a debt. Ladies just don't do that sort of shameful thing."

I shrugged. "Men certainly have no qualms about running out on a debt, so why should a woman? Besides, I only _heard_ about it, and am coming up with theories. But what else can I do when Mademoiselle de Ghent is supposedly planning a trip to Rome or Greece?"

Gently patting Helen's arm, I smiled. "Besides, I'm sure she can manage on what is left of her stipend. I'm sure it'll come to nothing."

We moved on to more pleasant topics, but I knew things were being set in motion, just as Destiny predicted. She had given us the information we needed, and declared that society and its gossipers would do the rest. All we had to do was plant the seeds of doubt, and people would spread the talk like wildfire.

"And don't worry about Celia herself," Destiny had told us. "She'll be fine, I promise. As soon as she gets out of Venice, she'll hook a nice rich aristocrat who can keep up with her spending and not care if she runs around with other men."

'_Well, that should certainly get things rolling_,' I thought as Erik came up beside me. '_Though I'd better make sure Nora spreads a few extra bits of gossip among the servants, just to be sure we cover all our bases_.'

"Come, my dear, it's time to go," Erik declared.

"So soon?" Arthur protested. "The ball has barely started. Won't you stay another hour or two, at least?"

Erik clearly didn't like the idea, but I _did_ want to stay at least a little longer. Besides, we'd only had one dance, and the ballroom wasn't even moderately warm yet.

"Just a little longer," I pleaded, batting my eyelashes at him. "Please? Just for another few dances?"

My husband sighed. "Very well," he agreed. "But the moment you become warm, I am taking you home. A woman in your condition should not become overheated."

Helen gave me a sharp look. "Condition?" she asked, eying me. "Oh, I knew it! When you were sick for so long, I knew that was the case! How wonderful for you! We must meet soon and go shopping for clothes and everything you'll need!"

I laughed as our husbands rolled their eyes and sighed, knowing what Helen and I would be talking about the rest of the night.

Needless to say, I went home exceedingly happier than when I had arrived.

* * *

AN: Looks like Celia's going to get what's coming to her. It's not a lightning strike from Destiny, but at least she'll be dealt with. Thanks to everyone for reading, and please review!


	13. Happy Endings, For Most

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: Final chapter before the epilogue (which will be up close behind this one)! Thank so much to all my readers and reviewers; I couldn't have finished the story without your encouragement. I will be posting a Twilight-Phantom crossover set in modern times, so keep an eye out for that in a few weeks. Thanks again, and please don't forget to review!

**Chapter 13: Happy Endings, For Most****:**

In the past, I'd never personally seen gossip bring down a person's reputation or life –now I'd have the chance to do so.

To finish our plan successfully, Erik and I had pretty much decided on banking the second half of the plan on Nora, who would spread gossip about Celia across Venice's servants –through them, it would find its way up to the merchants and the aristocracy. Since servants talked to each other, then delivered news to their employers, it was the swiftest (and most subtle) way of getting rid of our 'problem.'

The day after Helen and Arthur's ball, I was careful to drop a few hints and rumors to my maid, who loved gossip as much as the next girl. To my surprise, she had shaken her head and sniffed disdainfully at the topic of Celia.

"Never did like that woman," Nora said as she helped dress me for the day. "Everyone knows she's been throwing herself at Monsieur Garnier, and not getting anywhere. I'd already heard talk among the other servants in the city, all of them chatting about how much money she's been spending on new dresses and jewelry. Of course, _we_ all knew what it was for, and more than a few of your class did, too."

I hadn't thought that the servants would notice Celia's pursuit of Erik, but Nora simply shook her head at the gaping look on my face. "Oh, everybody knows she's been trying to get her claws into Monsieur," she explained. "The aristocracy's familiar with that sort of game, as more than a few have played it. They also didn't see anything odd about Mademoiselle de Ghent spending so much on gowns, since that's what most rich women do."

Now I was even more confused. "But if the nobles knew about Celia wanting Erik, why didn't anyone say anything?" I asked, my head spinning. "Don't they usually start talking and snickering in situations like this?"

Sighing, Nora shook her head. "I forget that you aren't used to their ways," she said. "The rich folk dare not laugh at you because they respect you too much, and fear Monsieur Garnier even more. _They_ knew that _you_ knew about Celia, and didn't dare spread anymore talk about it, not if they wanted to stay on Monsieur's good side and have him designing things for them."

Honestly, I didn't know whether to be amused or reassured by that. '_I guess Erik's still got that Phantom thing going_,' I thought, giggling at the twinkle in Nora's eyes.

Well, if people's fears and worries about Erik kept them from talking about us, I didn't mind. Besides, I loved that dark, powerful, mysterious air Erik wore around him like a cloak. I guess that would explain why most men tended to give way to him, and how the women didn't know whether to be attracted to him, or to quiver in fear when he looked their way.

My amused smile gave way to a dreamy one. I was definitely the luckiest woman in Venice.

"Was there anything else, Madame," Nora asked, giving me a knowing look. She could tell what I was thinking about, and it sometimes made her more than a bit cheeky.

"Yes, Nora, there is one thing you could do," I said, thinking frantically. "Would you mind dropping a few tidbits of gossip around Venice when you go out? I believe it's time for Mademoiselle de Ghent to be brought down a few pegs."

My maid instantly perked up. "Oh, I'd be more than happy to assist with that. Tell me what to say, and where to let the words drop, and I'll do it."

It never ceased to amaze me, how faithful Nora was to me and to Erik. She'd do almost anything I asked of her without question, even if there was more than enough room for her to disagree with what I was doing. Occasionally, Nora would speak her mind if she felt the need to, but not today; we were on the same path.

I smiled at her. "First, I think it would be best if you started with the servants…"

* * *

Celia couldn't understand it. How was it that so many people knew about her financial situation? The only ones who were supposed to know about it were her finance advisors, the men who had served her father when he lived.

'_Stuffy old men_,' she thought, sniffing in contempt. '_Always telling me what I can't have. Why did father set a date to settle everything on me_? _Why do I have to wait until I'm twenty-five years of age to get what's rightfully mine_?'

Pushing those thoughts aside, Celia focused on the gossip floating around Venice. Somehow, the merchants had heard that her finances were not what society thought they were, and now they wanted their money, preferably as soon as possible.

Fighting back the urge to frown (which tended to give a lady wrinkles), she leaned back on her chaise lounge and reached for the glass of champagne her maid had brought her. Someone had been talking about her upcoming journey to Rome, a visit that was supposed to be kept secret amongst her servants. Besides those who worked for her, no one was supposed to know –she should have known that they couldn't keep their mouths shut.

'_Sometimes they're worse gossips than the old maids in society_.'

As she was both in debt _and_ planning a visit to Rome, this made for a very bad mix. People would think that she was going to slip out on her bills, and that would more than tarnish her reputation among the shopkeepers.

She gritted her teeth. '_That, I cannot allow to happen_. _After all, I have an image to uphold_.'

A woman of her social standing had to have the finest gowns, the most dazzling jewelry, and the most beautiful and strongest horses, all of which were required when appearing in public. For her to lose the respect of those who sold these things would mean social disgrace. Besides, how else was Celia going to find a husband if she did not look her best?

'_Not that I want a husband just yet_,' she smirked. '_I'm having far too much fun to marry_.'

But if she did not wed soon and produce an heir to her wealth, her father's estate would pass to her mousy, scholarly cousin, whom she detested. No, she had better wed, but that would not happen until her father's money was legally hers. So she had a few years yet to have some fun.

What Celia had to do _now_ was get more money, and quickly. Presently, she had enough to pay off a few of her bills, but not many. Usually, she moved from one stipend to another, paying whenever she wanted or could. Running up bills was part of being an aristocrat, so there was no need to rush to pay, not when the merchants knew they would eventually get their money.

'_Besides, my credit is good, they know that from my reputation_.'

But she still needed more money, and her stipend was not expected for weeks yet. Begging for funds from her 'advisors' was out of the question; they would only gloat that it was her own fault for not keeping up with her bills, and that she had to wait and handle it herself.

'_They might even suggest I sell some of my jewelry_.' Celia sniffed disdainfully. '_As though I would resort to that_!'

The only times an aristocrat sold their valuables was when they were utterly destitute, or had to pay off secret gambling debts. Celia was far from destitute, but she wasn't going to empty her purse to pay off bills which would disappear the day her allowance arrived. She would just have to tell the shopkeepers and merchants to wait.

A knock on the door broke the tranquility she was just settling into. "What?" she snapped, glaring at the doorway.

"My lady, there is a group of merchants here who wish to speak with you," a male voice nervously called through the door. "Something about unpaid bills?"

Celia dropped her glass.

* * *

Apparently Destiny was right about gossip: people were more than willing to believe the worst in a person, but most especially in people they didn't like in the first place. And since Celia de Ghent wasn't popular in Venice (at least amongst the female half), her downfall in society was pretty swift. I suppose it was my own workings that started it, given that I'd sent Nora out to spread talk around the servants of Venice.

A week after Erik and I had begun our secret campaign against our 'enemy,' we received a grand piece of news. Following an afternoon of "running errands" for me, Nora returned to say that few servants had been talking about the debts Mademoiselle de Ghent had run up in the shops.

"But when I casually mentioned that although she had the reputation of leaving no bill completely unpaid, she had been doing more spending far more of late," Nora explained. "I told them that a change in habits could be due to a change in character, and that made them uneasy."

Anyone could see why. Merchants did not take people running out on their bills very lightly, so if they even had a small inkling that someone was leaving town, debts unpaid, then they would do everything in their power to get the money owed to them. In most cases, however, they never received the entire sum, but any amount they could get was better than nothing.

The results of Nora's rumor spreading were swift: within a day, the servants had whispered words of doubt into their master's ears, asking if Mademoiselle de Ghent could be trusted to pay back so much money, especially when she was known for taking her time to settle her accounts. Who knew how long it would be before everything she had bought was fully paid off?

Of course, most merchants had decided to stick with their belief in Celia's reputation of paying sums off. They felt that to doubt an aristocrat would lead to others refusing to do business with them, a merchant who doubted in the reputation of the upper class. Losing business was a nightmare amongst those involved in trade.

Some merchants, however, decided to take a risk and approach Celia for the money they felt was theirs. Nora heard that they had formed a small group, no more than a dozen, and marched on the de Ghent residence, armed with the bills that needed to be paid.

Apparently, they were not well received. Celia, claiming to be ill, didn't even meet with them; she merely ordered her butler to give them each a few coins towards her bills before showing them out.

"The money she'd given them wouldn't even cover the price of the ribbons used to lace up one of her dresses," one tailor had complained to his servant, who had told Nora.

Word spread quickly after that, with Nora reporting what was going on while Erik and I listened, fascinated and amazed at how quickly things were moving. For several days, Venice was abuzz with talk, and Nora, dear girl that she was, kept us abreast of it all.

Tonight was particularly interesting.

"Apparently the merchants have been swarming Mademoiselle de Ghent's home, demanding their money, or at least half of it," Nora said, after Erik and I had returned from the theater. "The first day or two, the merchants got a pittance for their troubles, but no more. Afterwards, though, the merchants started coming back with nothing to show for their efforts."

"I somehow doubt they were happy about that," Erik muttered as he poured each of us a drink, including Nora.

"No, they weren't," Nora replied. "Apparently the early bird does get the worm, even if it's a tiny one, and those that arrived late to the party came away with nothing. Since then, anyone resembling a shopkeeper or merchant has been turned away at the door. The butler's been claiming that his mistress is ill or too busy, though she's certainly glad enough to receive other callers."

Erik handed her a glass of sweet cordial, which she accepted with a surprised look on her face. Nora took a small sip of her drink, and smiled. "Thank you, sir," she said, clutching the glass as though fearing it would be taken from her. Expensive drinks were a rare treat for servants.

"What else have you learned?" I asked, smiling as I drank my mint tea.

Nora gave me a smile as well. "Well, from what her servants say, she refuses to return what she's purchased, and won't sell them to pay off her debts. Her usual allowance isn't due to be in her hands for a while yet, and in the meantime, she either has to reach a deal with those she owes to, or use up whatever's left to pay them off, leaving her with nothing until her stipend is distributed to her."

"Hmm, that doesn't bode well for her," Erik smoothly replied, sitting beside me. "If she cannot afford to pay her servants, keep her horses, or rent her house, that does leave a rather nasty hole to dig herself out of."

"And she will lose face in society," Nora said, taking another sip of her cordial. "People will begin to talk of how she can't keep track of her spending, and how scandalous her behavior has been. She will soon be an outcast in the upper classes, which, I assume, is what the two of you would like, considering how she's been towards Monsieur."

Erik simply took a drink from his glass. "Indeed," he said, reaching a free hand out to touch my arm affectionately.

"Of course, it helps that the two of you are still going out in public, looking as though nothing is wrong," Nora slyly told us. "No one will suspect the two of you of anything, and even if they did, no one would blame you for spreading the truth about such a person as Mademoiselle Celia de Ghent."

We broke shortly afterwards, Nora to go to her rooms, and Erik and I retreating to ours. As soon as the door was closed, I was swept into my husband's strong arms, his face buried in my hair.

"I will be relieved when this is all over, my love," he whispered. "Once she is gone, we will be able to enjoy your pregnancy in peace, and I will buy every beautiful thing you desire to decorate the nursery with."

"But what if our child's a boy and doesn't want beautiful things?" I teased, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "What will you do then?"

"It will be a girl," Erik declared, smiling into the curve of my neck. "A beautiful baby girl who looks exactly like her enchanting mother."

As we lay in bed, wrapped in each other's arms, Erik began stroking my hair as well as my stomach. "It is wonderful, knowing that Mademoiselle de Ghent will not enter our lives again," Erik whispered. "I would not want her within a thousand miles of us when the child arrives."

Chuckling, I closed my eyes, agreeing with him entirely.

* * *

"Well, that was some good work, kiddos," a familiar female voice declared.

Erik and I looked around the grassy field, joining hands as Destiny appeared in a swirl of blue glitter and glowing orbs of blue light.

"Kiddos?" Erik asked, confused.

"Sorry, future term," Destiny said, shrugging it off. "Anyway, excellent work. I'm proud of you."

"Thanks," I said. "But I'm guessing you didn't bring us here to pat us on the back for a job well-done, right?"

"No indeed," she replied with a grin. "I came to tell you that soon, you're going to get exactly what you want. Celia is going to be leaving Venice within the next couple weeks."

I heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness!"

Erik didn't look so sure. "But how can she afford to do so?" he asked. "Her funds are low, and leaving is going to attract attention."

"Well, you see, that's the beautiful part," Destiny said, a smug smile on her face. "Apparently, Miss de Ghent is going to write a very heart-filled plea to those in charge of her money. She's going to ask them for a bit of an advance on her allowance, and after a lot of consideration, they're going to give it to her, but on one or two conditions."

"That she leave Venice behind, right?" I guessed. "And they'll probably tell her to watch what she spends in the future, because they won't advance her money again. That's what I'd say to her, anyway."

"Bingo," she replied, again puzzling Erik with her terminology. "So there you go. In a little bit, she'll be out of your hair, and you'll be back to domestic bliss." She rested an eye on my stomach. "Well, for a while, anyway. Things tend to be thrown off kilter when a baby arrives."

'_I'll bet_,' I thought with a smile.

"Is there any way you can tell if it's a boy or a girl?" Erik asked, an eager gleam in his eyes.

"No," I stressed. "I want to be surprised. Besides, it'll look strange if none of us looks surprised when the baby's born."

He pouted. "But I want to get started on names. We need to have the best name for our first-born, and we must get started now to find the right one."

"There's plenty of time for that," I retorted. "First, we wait until Celia is gone. _Then_ we can start with names and such. Besides, I haven't even told Mama about the baby yet, and you know she'll want to be here for the birth."

Erik's eyes went wide. "Oh, no, not another visit from your mother," he groaned. "I was just getting used to having you all to myself again. Can we not wait until _after_ the birth to tell her?"

Destiny snickered. "I doubt she'd like that. I know **I** wouldn't. And imagine how angry she'd be, learning about her grandchild after its arrival!"

My husband shivered. "Very well, then," he surrendered. "But now Lissie and I need our rest. Would you mind…?"

"Oh, not at all," my patron replied, waving her hand at us. "And believe me when I say that you'll need your rest, because I plan on visiting after the little one's born."

I laughed as Erik sighed his annoyance.

* * *

AN: It's almost over! Just the epilogue left, and that'll be it. Please be kind and review; thanks!


	14. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything _**Phantom of the Opera**_ (though I wish I did). Only original characters belong to me.

AN: This is it, the end of the storyline! Thanks again to all my readers and reviewers: you rock! I hope to see some of you at the Twilight-Phantom story. Ciao for now!

**Epilogue**:

"I cannot believe you waited so long to tell me," Mama said, frowning as she dabbed my forehead with a damp cloth. "You should have informed me immediately when you discovered this!"

"Mama!" I snapped, gritting my teeth. "Now is not a good time to be scolding me!"

"No, indeed," Nora agreed, rubbing my arm soothingly. "Besides, it's her first child. She didn't _know_ she was in labor until the pain increased in timing and in strength."

My mother rolled her eyes and gently squeezed my hand. "Very well," she relented. "Now, remember: don't push until the doctor says to. It's very important."

I sighed, then winced as another wave of labor pains hit me. Mama had come to Venice only a few weeks ago, as the Opera Populaire had been in the midst of a performance when she'd gotten my message about Erik and I expecting a child. She had been thrilled, of course, but dared not leave during such a crucial time, especially since Meg was so close to becoming the prima ballerina in the Opera House.

Another bout of pain, and I was able to relax, at least a little. '_Oh, I'm so glad Erik isn't here for this_!'

My sweet, doting husband was out on business, but would return soon. I hadn't wanted anyone to fetch him, not when the birth was hours away, and besides, he couldn't be interrupted -he had been home so much during my pregnancy, I'd feared his architecture business would fail. Luckily, most of his customers were very understanding, as Erik was going to be a first-time father, and they were willing to visit him rather than he go to them. Still, it was probably best that he finish this particular house call, since it was an Italian noble who was willing to pay a great deal for Erik's efforts.

"Alright, Madame," the doctor said cheerfully. "It's time to push."

Obedient, I did as he asked.

* * *

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir," Arnold said, trying to block his master's way. "Interrupting a woman in childbirth is always a bad idea."

Erik glared at him. "I want to see my wife," he said, trying to get past not only his butler, but Carlos and Deborah, all of whom were trying to keep him in the library. _How_ he had managed to be tricked into coming _into_ the library was still a mystery, but all he wanted to do right now was get to Lissie's side.

Oh, why had he gone out today? He had spent the last six months beside his vibrantly glowing wife, taking her out on shopping trips, to the theater, and all over Venice until her confinement. And for the past several weeks, the two of them had never left the house unless it was of vital importance. How could he have gone out with the birth so near?

'_Babies always come at the worst possible times_,' he thought with a groan.

"I don't think you should see Madame when she's in such pain," Arnold said, offering a glass of brandy. "It does neither one of you any good, and she'd just yell at you to get out anyway."

He had a point, but Erik wanted to be there to see the birth of his child. Men didn't usually do this, but Erik had to know if both mother and baby were well.

Hurried footsteps ran down the stairwell, and Nora appeared behind the other three servants. "Monsieur, it is time," she gasped, trying to catch her breath. "Come quickly."

Practically knocking all four servants to the floor, Erik ran up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Lissie. The door was partially open, and he dared to take a peek. Lissie was prone on the bed, sweating and breathing heavily as Antoinette dabbed a cloth on her head and murmured comforting words in French. The doctor was at a large porcelain bowl by the window, washing something. When he turned around, there was a bundle of lavender cloth in his arms and a broad smile on his face.

"Signore," he said, with a nod of respect. "A daughter for you and the signora."

Reaching for the bundle, Erik felt his heart almost burst from his chest. Looking down at the infant girl, he gently took her in his arms and smiled.

"My dearest little Isabella," he cooed, cradling and rocking her. "Isabella Destiny Garnier. You will be the light of our lives."

* * *

Looking in her mirror, Destiny smirked. "See? They even named the baby after me! I knew everything would work out for the best, didn't I tell you?"

Her sister rolled her eyes. "Yeah, sure, sweetie. Now, if you don't mind, I've got some work of my own to do. And while I'm out working my bum off, you might want to make sure all of your loose ends are tied up, just to be safe."

Dang it, Fate was right. It would be a very bad thing if she didn't cover all her bases; even one loose end could ruin everything.

Touching a jewel at the edge of the large, gilded mirror frame, Destiny fast-forwarded to preview what would happen in the future regarding Erik, Lissie, and company.

* * *

Apparently within the next year, Antoinette Giry would inform her daughters about where Lissie had _really_ gone, and what she had been up to. Neither Meg or Christine would believe that their beloved older sister had married the Opera Ghost and had his child, but photos taken of the happy family would be proof enough. Both girls would be sworn to secrecy on the matter, and would take that secret to their graves.

As for the workers of the Populaire, they got the surprise of their lives when a note arrived from the "Ghost," declaring that he was leaving them in pursuit of a far more rewarding lifestyle. However, the Ghost threatened that if Christine did not become the _prima donna_, he would return, and no one would be safe from his wrath. That was the least Erik could do for his sister-in-law, and his former pupil.

Not taking any chances when it came to their singers (and their profits), the managers decided to perform a trial period to see who would be the best female lead. Christine and Carlotta would alternate performances for several months, and whoever brought in the most patrons would become _prima donna_. Of course, the people preferred Christine, whose beauty and charms alone were enough to win them over. Carlotta was given the second lead rolls, much to her displeasure.

Fast-forwarding again, Destiny checked up on her charge.

For the Garnier family, everything looked rather peachy. Lissie and Erik were definitely going to have their hands full with the mob of children they were going to produce. Each child, boys and girls alike, would be gifted with their own artistic abilities, and all of them would be loved by their parents. The girls would be encouraged to follow their hearts and to either wed or stay single, whatever their preference, with the blessings of their mother and (particularly) their father. Meanwhile, the boys would become fine, upstanding, handsome gentlemen, just like Erik.

"Job well-done there," Destiny murmured, looking ahead for Lissie's sisters.

Within the next year, Meg would become the prima ballerina of the Paris Opera House, and attract the attention of many men, including a kind, good-natured duke from England. The two were to wed sometime in the future, and it was certainly more than Antoinette could have hoped for. Who would have thought a Giry would become a noble?

As for Christine, she would become the _prima donna_ after Carlotta decided to head off to Russia, as far away from the Populaire and Christine as she could get. Piangi would accompany his lover, leaving every female in the Populaire to breathe a sigh of relief. With those two gone, Christine would be able to shine in the spotlight, where she'd be much loved and admired by the public.

Another fast-forward, and Destiny was happy to see that Christine would retire after five years onstage. That was when Raoul would become the Count de Chagny, and Christine's attentions would be needed to focus on her new position in society. Plus, there was the fact that she'd also be expecting her first child, so that might also have something to do with it.

As for Antoinette Giry, she would eventually join Lissie and Erik in Venice to help raise their increasing brood. After all, with all three of her daughters married off to rich men, Antoinette had no reason to work, and every good reason to retire from instructing ballet. Rather than remain in Paris with Christine, or go to England with Meg, Anne decided to take Erik up on his offer to live in Italy, where the warmer weather was easier on her bones. Besides, Lord and Lady Russell lived there, and Antoinette liked being so close to good friends.

Skipping forward a few decades, Destiny focused on a certain figure who would play a key roll in the lives of so many: A man named Gaston Leroux.

* * *

In order to preserve the Phantom story base for future generations, Destiny was forced to do a _tiny_ bit of direct interfering. She was allowed to, but only in very limited ways. In this instance, she sent a small bolt of magic through the mirror, the invisible power striking the man in the head as he sat over a blank sheet of paper. The power had held the idea for a story about the Phantom of the Opera, a legend that Leroux had heard about in his youth.

Inspired by this sudden burst of creativity, Gaston quickly journeyed to the Paris Opera House in order to begin his research on his new story idea. Once there, he stubbornly began going through the dusty library in search of anything that could help him write a story that would make him famous.

What he found was less than inspiring. He had uncovered a few diaries belonging to a Christine Daae and a Meg Giry, both of them ballerinas during the time of the Phantom's rule. However, the most he got out of the books was an entry or two talking about the Phantom's sudden disappearance with their sister, the adopted daughter of the ballet mistress. Apparently the Ghost and the girl had run off to Italy together, and although Madame Giry should have been beyond comfort, she had accepted the whole thing without a complaint!

Angered that the mysterious Ghost had vanished with a girl of no importance, Leroux was frustrated that there was little else to go on. Finally, he decided to take matters into his own hands. Instead of a meek nobody, he decided to have the Phantom's love interest be Christine Daae, who had gone from being a ballerina during the Phantom's time, to the position of _prima donna_ through his influence.

"That should make things more interesting," Leroux muttered as he scribbled down his ideas. "No one wants to read about a Phantom falling in love with a ballet mistress's daughter, a girl who never did anything important!"

He added several characters, too, such as a Persian fellow and his servant, because readers liked anything exotic and strange. Toss in several murders, dangerous traps and pranks, as well as a tragic ending, and that made for a marvelous story.

The rest was literary and artistic history.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in the modern world, the form of a young woman in a coma, named Amelia Richardson, smiled and took her last breath.

* * *

AN: The end! Thanks to everyone for reading, and for all of your support; I means a lot to me. I have no idea when I'll be posting another Phantom story, but keep your eyes peeled; you never now when one will pop up! Thanks again, and I hope to see you all again soon!


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